


Limerence

by inkandwords



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Piercings, Soulmates, Tattoos, Wild goose chase, aokise and midotaka and makoharu inked and pierced ruin me, atsu fics, badass takao ruins me, fate!au, kisetaka bromances ruin me, oh hey look we have swimming guest stars yay, romcom!aokise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-03-17 19:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3540563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandwords/pseuds/inkandwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aomine and Kise share one night coined by fate that is taken away just as quickly as it's given. Years later, at the threshold of their new lives, they look back to that one night and wonder... "what if?".</p>
<p><i>“Sometimes the slightest things change the directions of our lives, the merest breath of a circumstance, a random moment that connects like a meteorite striking the earth. Lives have swiveled and changed direction on the strength of a chance remark.”</i><br/>-Bryce Courtenay</p>
<p>__________</p>
<p>Stellar art by <a href="http://drawverylittle.tumblr.com/">drawverylittle</a>, <a href="http://arriecchi.tumblr.com/">arriecchi</a>, and <a href="http://kiseryuota.tumblr.com">kiseryuota</a> included. ♥ || Links in corresponding chapters.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaijoskopycat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijoskopycat/gifts).



> Inspired by the film _Serendipity_ and [these](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yk9G7OyKwLM) [songs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=usdIB4aU1fQ).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aomine and Kise meet and an instant connection sparks, making way for an unforgettable encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always wanted to do a fate/destiny fic and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to put an AoKise twist to it. I hope you enjoy their beginning...

* * *

 

_“Sometimes the slightest things change the directions of our lives, the merest breath of a circumstance, a random moment that connects like a meteorite striking the earth. Lives have swiveled and changed direction on the strength of a chance remark.”_

-Bryce Courtenay

 

* * *

New York City on Christmas Eve is a madhouse.

There's a distinct charge in the air, a rip-roaring tide of energy that infects everyone with that sort of obliviously irritating happiness - that is, until they enter a department store and turn into snarling, no-holds-barred devil incarnates willing to bowl anyone over for a discounted pair of shoes or some upcharged toy that everyone's going nuts over. Unfortunately for Aomine Daiki, he's right smack dab in the middle of the rumble, swallowed whole into the chaos of last minute Christmas shoppers fighting tooth and nail for things they probably wouldn't have looked at twice if it wasn't the day before Christmas.

Every year, he tries to convince himself it'll be different - that this year,  _this year_  he'll get everything done just so he wouldn't have to power through the stupid lines and the hoards of pissed off people set on cleaning the stores out.

Aomine grumbles at the thought as snow begins to fall, white flurries floating through the air in that movie-magic way that makes him roll his eyes. He tugs his beanie down and readjusts the hood of his sweatshirt, muttering under his breath and cursing himself for not wearing a warmer jacket before he left his house. Not that he ever pays attention to the weather reports or thinks these things through anyway. He relies on Momoi to do most of the thinking, common sense not his strong point with anything he ever does.

As if on cue, his phone startles him and he knocks into a man directly in front of him when he finally manages to squeeze through the revolving doors of the department store. "Shit, sorry," he mutters, pulling out the device and loosening the scarf bundled around his neck before he swipes the screen to answer. He scowls at Momoi's overly bubbly smile on her contact icon, his brows pinched together as he barks into the phone's mouthpiece. "What?"

"Dai-chan! I'm glad I caught you! I need a favor."

Momoi's voice on the other end of the line sounds sickly sweet and it's all Aomine can do not to openly grumble. He's not in the best of moods and doing anyone any sort of favor isn't high on his priority list, even if the person asking just so happened to be one of his best friends.

He weaves in and out of the sardine-packed crowd and shoots a glare at one customer who elbows him as she hurries by. Then he spots it: a pair of black gloves he's been needing, but has been too lazy to buy until it became too cold to put it off anymore. And as luck would have it, there's just one pair left. "I'm busy."

"Aw, come on. It won't take long. I just need a ride into the city to pick up a few things."

"I'm already here. Had some last minute shopping to do and it's fucking crazy. I hate Christmas." He accidentally shoves a patron against one of the counters on his mad dash to get to the gloves and barely sputters an apology before the guy scowls at him and disappears. Finally, he reaches the small section where the assortment of gloves are hung and makes a grab for the ones he's got his eye on. "Hey, it's hard to talk when I'm trying to navigate through this goddamn-"

"Oh, sorry! Were you- I mean, I was just grabbing them and I didn't realize you were, too-"

Aomine pauses mid sentence, his hand on the tips of the gloves' fingers when his gaze meets a pair of golden eyes sheepishly staring at him. "Call ya back," he says, vaguely aware that Momoi's still talking before he hangs up. The other guy stands in front of him, pressed against the accessories counter and holding on to the fingertips of one of the gloves. He has one of those smiles, bright and warm and surprisingly genuine even amidst the sea of increasingly frustrated customers bumping into him from all directions. There is a strange glow in his eyes, rich amber that reels Aomine in and renders him momentarily speechless. It isn't a usual occurrence for Aomine to ogle the same sex; his tastes normally lean toward women with racks big enough to probably be used as floatation devices. It perplexes him in a way that comes out of left field because the guy is definitely not female and, more importantly, lacking the chest size Aomine is known to appreciate. But still - he can't deny what's right in front of him and the guy is definitely easy on the eyes in the most obvious ways.

He opens his mouth to speak, but not before he blinks his odd confusion away. With his hand still on the merchandise, he eyes Pretty Boy's hand on the upper portion of the gloves and chuckles. "It's my bad, seriously," he says by way of greeting and he wonders for a moment how someone not female could be so stupidly attractive. He quickly lets go of the accessory in the same instance Pretty Boy releases his own stake on the item, and the guy laughs, the sound clear and easy on the ears despite the nervousness behind it. Even in the din of voices around them, the laughter carries through the noise, strong and lilting. Aomine is instantly captivated.

"No, no, that was all me. You had it first," Pretty Boy says, sweeping his blond hair aside. His mouth curves into another one of those unpretentious smiles and Aomine finds he has trouble steering his gaze away. Pretty Boy gestures to the gloves again. "You take them."

"Can't do that. You had 'em, fair and square," Aomine counters, hands up in the air as he casually shrugs. The gloves are nearly forgotten until a man comes out from somewhere behind him to grab them. Fortunately for Aomine, his reflexes are quicker and he snatches them off the rack, the man glaring at him over his shoulder as he shoves another shopper aside on his way back into the frenzied crowd. Aomine turns back to Pretty Boy and dangles the gloves like a prize. "Look, I even saved them for you. You gotta take 'em now or the rescue would be for nothing."

The blond chuckles and raises a brow, a hint of mischief behind the appraising gaze. He seems to be contemplating Aomine's statement despite the brief wariness he shows as his eyes flicker from the gloves to Aomine's face. "We can't have that, can we?" he asks, pursing his lips. "How about I make you a deal? You let me buy you coffee and dessert, and I'll make sure your rescue services weren't a total waste."

Aomine quickly glances around the store, debating whether to take Pretty Boy up on his offer or finish the rest of his Christmas shopping. On one hand, the invitation gets him out of the stampede-ready crowd and gives him a chance to see if his sudden interest goes beyond the instant attraction that still has him wound up like a toy on a department store shelf. But on the other hand, Momoi would give him an earful for never getting anything done and showing up to her Ugly Sweater Christmas party empty-handed. He shrugs, mind made up as soon as Pretty Boy bites the corner of his lip in anticipation and Aomine's stomach flips at the sight. _Fuck it. Everyone's getting giftcards._ "Yeah, okay. I can do that. But only if you'll let me get the dessert."

"Deal." The smile that follows is blinding and, for a moment, Aomine wonders what it would be like to kiss him.

* * *

 

"So, who were the gloves actually supposed to be for?" Pretty Boy asks before he spoons a glob of Frozen Hot Chocolate into his mouth. "I bet it was for a girl. It's a good present to get, the cashmere gloves. Girls like cashmere."

"How do you even know that?" Aomine laughs through his own mouthful. He's shoveling the contents of his "Can't Say No" sundae into his mouth like he's never had ice cream taste so good before, the selection made by Pretty Boy himself when asked what his favorite sundae is out of the various options that make up the restaurant's dessert menu. It's better than he expects and it's enough to quell his grumbling about how he should have ordered the Strawberry Fields sundae instead.

"I work around clothes a lot," comes the response. Pretty Boy grins and casually shrugs, toying with what remains of his dessert with the tip of his spoon.

Aomine eyes him in that appraising sort of way, noting the way Pretty Boy is dressed and concluding that it is a little nicer than most guys he knows. "You work at a department store or something?" he asks, trying to keep the conversation casual instead of just staring at the guy the entire time.

"Something like that, yeah." Pretty Boy purses his lips like he means to say more, but refrains and takes the last bite of his ice cream instead. The chocolate confection dribbles down from the corner of his mouth and it's all Aomine can do to keep his eyes from Pretty Boy's lips, especially when his tongue darts out to catch the debris. Pretty Boy seems to have noticed the attention because he sweeps his tongue over the part of his lips in that purposeful way that makes Aomine gulp, almost seductive but done subtly enough that he could just be trying to get the sticky residue left by the ice cream. "Do you always stare so intently when you're having dessert with someone?"

"Only when the dessert's really good," Aomine answers without thinking. He flinches and chuckles nervously, his palm coming to rest at his nape. He's startled to find it warm, a tingling sensation prickling his fingertips from the change in temperature. He doesn't mean to stare, not really, but Pretty Boy's face is expressive, interesting, and Aomine finds it difficult to consciously make an effort not to look at him in a way that might border on uncomfortable. "So, you won't tell me your name or what exactly it is that you do. Huh... let's try something else then." He taps his spoon against his lips, brows furrowed together while he reaches for something else that doesn't encroach on Pretty Boy's personal space. "How'd you find this place? I've been here a few years and never really heard of it. I might've passed by it a few times, though, on my way to shoot some hoops, but I can't remember. There's an indoor gym I use nearby when it's too cold to play outside."

Pretty Boy perks at the mention of basketball. "You play ball? Hm, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You look like you could play," he says, face alight with interest. "And I found the shop the first time I was in the city.  We were looking for a dessert place and I really liked the name."

"Right. Serendipity. It sounds weird, but maybe that's just me." Aomine nods, polishing off his own dessert and gratuitously licking off whatever was left on the spoon. "What's it mean, anyway? The shop's name?"

"It means 'a happy accident'. Pretty cool, huh? Kinda like how you were there to save my gloves from that guy that tried to mow you over."

"He really wanted those gloves," Aomine remarks, idling for time when he sees the crowd in the shop slowly thinning. It dawns on him that they've stayed longer than he intended, the clock reading just before midnight. There's a part of him that tries to pretend the seconds aren't ticking by, aren't counting down to ending one of the most relaxed nights he's had in a long while. He doesn't want it to end just yet, but their desserts are finished and the waiter keeps wandering by to check if they needed anything else.

Pretty Boy seems to have noticed, too, because he gets up after the tenth time their waiter passes, and shoulders on his jacket. "It's getting kinda late. I should get going." He pauses while Aomine stands and shrugs his hoodie back on. Without warning, he steps forward and gives Aomine a hug. It's one of those nice hugs; genuine and squeezed tight like he means it, like they've been longtime friends instead of meeting only a few hours before. It's a nice feeling and leaves Aomine with a mixture of warmth and a saddened realization that this unexpected meeting is now undoubtedly coming to an end. When Pretty Boy pulls away, he's flushed and wearing a grin that holds Aomine's gaze for a beat longer than necessary. "Thanks for rescuing my gloves."

Aomine idly scratches his cheek and stuffs his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, fingers curling and uncurling while he mulls over an excuse to extend their time together. "Yeah, no problem. Thanks for the coffee and dessert. Wish you'd have let me pay for it, at least."

Pretty Boy shakes his head. "It's okay. Maybe you'll get a chance to pay me back someday." He gathers his things, turning toward Aomine with another smile that turns him to butter, and leaves the shop with a wave of his hand.

"Of all the rotten luck," Aomine mutters as he exits after him, "I didn't even get his name and number."

* * *

 

The air is biting when he gets outside. Pretty Boy is nowhere in sight, much to Aomine's chagrin, and he grumbles at his misfortune that he's let the guy go without at least scoring a way to contact him again. All around him, people are hurrying, feel shuffling against the snow-covered sidewalks while they navigate through intersections still busy despite the late hour. It's one of the reasons Aomine loves the city; Manhattan never sleeps and there's always life going on everywhere even with freezing temperatures at odd hours of the night.

He pulls his beanie out of his back pocket and tugs it on, his hood following after it. It isn't until he's almost to the subway station that he realizes he'd been wearing a scarf that he definitely isn't wearing now and he stops abruptly, his hand dragging down his face with a sigh. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me," he mutters, glancing up at the sky only to find that the snow had begun to fall again. He trudges back the way he came, shoes scuffing the sidewalk at random instances of irritation, and grumbles all the while trying not to think about how his momentary lapse has distracted him enough to forget one of his only defenses against the chill now permeating through his thick sweatshirt.

The shop is nearly empty when he arrives and he spots the server from before who looks at him with an expression he can't quite calculate. The man points toward the other room where Aomine was previously seated, his encouraging smile confusing him as Aomine follows the direction given and walks back to grab his scarf. He scrapes by one of the chairs in the middle of the aisle and rounds the corner only to stop dead on his feet when he spots a familiar face.

Pretty Boy stands there, gaze wide with poorly hidden surprise, his mouth agape at the sight of Aomine. He holds up the small bag containing the infamous gloves with one hand, Aomine's forgotten scarf in the other, his cheeks dusted pink from the cold. "I forgot these," he says sheepishly. An impish grin curves his mouth as he steps forward to drape the warm material over Aomine's shoulders, his gaze unwavering while he winds it snugly around Aomine's throat. "It looks like you forgot this, too."

Aomine takes advantage of the new opportunity and matches the grin. "You wanna go somewhere?"

"Where do you want to go?" Pretty Boy cocks his head to the side, curiosity brimming in his amber eyes.

Without hesitation, Aomine answers, "Anywhere."

"Yeah, okay," the blond says, his grin widening to a brilliant smile. "Let's go somewhere."

* * *

 

"Somewhere", it turns out, is farther than Aomine anticipates. Two blocks into their walk, the snow starts to really come down, coating the sidewalk and the both of them with fresh white powder. It's by luck that the subway is still running late enough for them to catch a ride on the M line, Pretty Boy eyeing the platform and the arriving train with a look of marked interest.

Aomine is baffled with the way the blond's eyes drink everything in with a sort of strange wonderment and he chuckles, the sound low and barely muffled, before he steps off the platform and onto the train. The car is empty save for a few scattered patrons sitting at the far end from where they enter, and Aomine nods over to a pair of seats across from the sliding doors. "What's your deal with the train?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"You're looking at everything funny. It's just a train, you know."

"Oh! That!" Pretty Boy exclaims, his laughter bouncing off the walls. He looks a little embarrassed, his expression making Aomine feel somewhat guilty for putting him on the spot. "I'm sorry, it's just that... I've never been on the subway before."

At the admission, Aomine's eyes widen and he scoffs before he can stop himself. "You're shittin' me. Never?" 

It's a rare thing to meet someone who's never taken the train when the majority of the population relies on it to get around various parts of the city. He wonders if Pretty Boy, like some of the other players in his training camp, prefers to take a cab out of convenience. It's not entirely out of the ordinary, but cabs cost a pretty penny and it has Aomine wondering how someone who works at a department store could afford the daily rides.

"Nope, never." When Pretty Boy glances over and glimpses Aomine's expression, he flinches before quickly recovering. "Is that bad? It's not like I never wanted to; it's just been something I've never had to do."

Aomine's interest piques, but before he has the chance to ask another question, their stop is announced as the train hisses to a complete halt. "C'mon, princess," he teases as he shoves his hands into his pockets. He motions toward the exit with a dip of his head, mouth quirked into a grin and a chuckle suppressed when Pretty Boy follows behind him.

The platform is empty; the florescent lights overhead flicker and throws corners and crevices into shadowed relief, their footsteps echoing through the enclosed space until they reach the stairway leading up to the open street and into the chilly night air. There are still people milling around, their pace hurried as the snow continues to fall. Aomine's steps quicken and it isn't until they're nearing their destination that he realizes how close in proximity they've become. While he normally isn't one to accept a breach of his personal space, he finds that he doesn't mind this time around, and bites back the tang of disappointment when Pretty Boy steps away as they approach the gym. 

Aomine suddenly halts when he sees the sign detailing the hours of operation and he reaches out to jiggle the doors without any luck. "Crap, I thought they'd still be open," he says, turning around, his expression apologetic. 

"Are you going to let that stop you?" There is a glint in Pretty Boy's eyes as he tilts his head to the side. His lips are quirked just enough to elicit a reaction in Aomine's gut; the beginnings of an excitement he hasn't felt in a long while. There's a challenge there, both in the enunciation of the words and in Pretty Boy's body language, and Aomine has never been one to back down from a challenge.

Aomine chuckles. "You're just full of surprises, aren't ya?" He spots the small alleyway to the left of the building and an idea comes to mind. Without thinking, he grabs hold of Pretty Boy's hand and tugs him along, checking to make sure no one is around to see them sneaking away toward the back entrance before they duck into the narrow space. The alleyway smells faintly of garbage and Aomine wrinkles his nose at the stench, cringing as he steals a glance at his companion. Pretty Boy's expression looks even more disgusted than Aomine anticipates, though it isn't enough to mask the excitement exuding from him, his fingers grasping Aomine's even tighter as they neared the chain-link fence that leads to the rear of the building. Aomine is the first to let go, grabbing hold of the creaking metal. He begins to climb, the ascent smooth and it takes just a few seconds before he's hoisting himself over, jumping down with little more than a quiet scuff on the pavement. "You know, you really don't have to-"

Before he can finish, Pretty Boy has already scaled the fence, his grip sure as he echoes Aomine's previous movements, landing next to him with ease. Aomine's jaw hangs loose at the hinges, disbelieving and more than a little impressed. Pretty Boy smirks and raises an eyebrow with a smugness that could rival Aomine's on his best day. "You were saying?"

Aomine clears his throat and shakes his head, barely managing a mumbled, "full of surprises..." before sets off toward the padlocked door. 

"Now what?"

"Hold on, jeez, I'm getting to that part." Aomine pokes Pretty Boy's forehead with the tip of his finger before he fishes out his wallet from his back pocket. Opening the small zippered compartment, he pulls out a key and throws Pretty Boy a smirk as he manages to undo the lock. "You didn't think I'd come here without a plan, did you?" he asks, stepping aside to let his companion in before following behind him.

"I don't know, you seem pretty surprised that they were closed when we got here. This gym's nice though; almost as nice as the one I use near my place."

"Which would be where, again?" Aomine's reaching; every personal question that could point to Pretty Boy's identity has been shot down, even if the blond has revealed other things like his favorite movie or a particularly funny story about how he pierced his ear back in middle school. 

"Ah... uh..."

"I know, I know, off limits, right? Can't blame a guy for trying," he says as casually as he could. He hopes his trying to hide both his disappointment and rising frustration with wanting to know more about his mystery companion is working, but something about the expression Pretty Boy wears tells him otherwise.

"Your efforts are duly noted. You're not offended, right?" Pretty Boy asks, following behind Aomine as they enter the indoor court, shrug off their jackets, and set their things on the sidelines. "I just, I don't know, we're having such a good time and I'd really rather keep it how it is."

There is a hint in his tone, somewhat pleading and for a moment, Aomine is thrown off by it. His curiosity is still at an all time high and the more Pretty Boy dodges his stealthily dropped questions, the greater his need to know becomes. But he understands the hesitation as well; he's been on that side of the fence too many times with people trying to get in his personal space like they had that right and he's enjoying himself too much to fuck up the unexpectedly nice night he's having. So instead of responding to what might potentially be an awkward response anyway, he heads into the storage closet to retrieve one of the spare basketballs, and returns with the ball slowly dribbling at his side. The dull thuds cut through the silence and echo throughout the large space, bouncing off the walls and amplifying the sound. 

"And how is it?" Aomine asks mid-pass. A smirk curls his lips, his smugness radiating off him in a way that usually intimidates his opponents. But not Pretty Boy. The smirk is returned in kind as Pretty Boy catches the pass with ease and instantly, Aomine's fingers tingle in anticipation. 

"Nice, comfortable," Pretty Boy answers without hesitation, dribbling the ball so naturally that Aomine is momentarily transfixed by it, distracted enough that he barely has time to register Pretty Boy's actions when he steps up his game and drives past him. The ball sails through the air in an effortless layup. "I don't want to ruin it."

"How would telling me your name ruin anything?"

"Just," he starts, sighing before he pauses as though trying to find the right words to say. "Haven't you ever had something really good happen, something that you can't really explain, that you weren't expecting, but it does and you want to just experience it? Without any ties, without putting labels on anything?"

Aomine picks up the ball and pivots around Pretty Boy while he mulls over the questions. His shoes squeak against the floor and he feels his muscles warming up with each step, each stretch of his limbs. "Yeah, I guess so. I'm just trying to figure out why you're so hellbent on not giving me anything when you said so yourself that you're havin' a good time." Pretty Boy gets in his face to block, but Aomine is too quick, too seasoned with years of street ball experience and high school tournaments to let it deter him, and soon the ball swoops through the net using one of his signature shots: formless and unorthodox and leaving Pretty Boy speechless.

"I guess you can say I'm trying to test fate," comes the response just as Pretty Boy sees through one of his fakes and steals the ball. His momentum works against him, however, and when he lurches forward to shoot, his foot catches on the tip of Aomine's shoe. He stumbles before skidding across the floor with his ass in the air. 

Laughter bubbles in Aomine's gut despite his attempt at holding it in and he doubles over, much to Pretty Boy's chagrin, one hand clutched against his stomach. It takes him a minute to realize that Pretty Boy is actually hurt, but when he does, he's next to him in a flash, knee bent against the floor to leverage his weight while he grunts from the effort of helping the other guy to his feet. 

"Guess fate's telling you it doesn't like to be tested," he jokes before slinging Pretty Boy's arm over his shoulder and helping him limp toward the sideline. He runs back to the storage room, basketball in tow to put it away, and returns with a few items from the small first aid kit he finds in one of the dusty shelves. "That was the best nosedive I've ever seen, though. Even if it did nick that pretty face of yours."

Pretty Boy pouts in response, a comical feat as it is with his head tilted back to stop his nose from bleeding out. "That wasn't as dazzling as it looked in my head."

"Still pretty dazzling to me," Aomine says without thinking. He feels the heat ignite when he realizes what he's said and he turns away despite the hold he still has on the cotton balls now plugged into Pretty Boy's nose. "Yeah, uh, I mean, it would've looked less stupid if you hadn't planted your face on the court, but guess I was just  _fated_  to win, huh?" He stands, completely aware of the the way the warmth lingers on the tips of his ears, and begins gathering their things. He motions toward the door. "C'mon, I think we're done with the one-on-one for tonight." 

"I could've played some more and probably beat you, too," Pretty Boy grumbles on their way out. Even with his injury, he moves with a sort of cat-like grace and Aomine nearly runs into the door before he catches it, sheepishly mumbling about how the stupid thing swings too fast sometimes. "You could just admit that you were staring, you know."

The teasing comment gives Aomine pause and he tries to save a portion of his dignity to no avail. "I was trying to make sure the cotton balls didn't come out of your nose. Don't be an idiot," he mumbles, half wishing he hadn't just given Pretty Boy more reason not to give him what he's been skirting around all night. "Someone's gotta watch out for you, right?"

"If you say so." Pretty Boy casually shrugs like it's no big deal, but the impish glint in this eyes doesn't go unnoticed.

Soon enough, they're back at the subway entrance, and Aomine is still no closer to getting anywhere that points to a way for him to keep in contact with the blond. "So, we're back here again," he begins lamely, breaths coming out in visible puffs as he scratches his cheek. He chuckles, more to keep the mood light and the pressure off than out of any real amusement. "Can't believe my luck."

"What does this have to do with luck?"

"I dunno, everything? Or nothing, I guess. Just that," he says and pauses, momentarily distracted by the freckled dots on Pretty Boy's neck just as he's about to wind his scarf again. "Hey, you know you have Perseus on your neck?"

Pretty Boy looks confused, his gloved hand coming up to touch where Aomine is blatantly staring. "I have what on my neck?"

"Not  _what_ ," Aomine corrects, " _who_. It's this greek warrior who was half god, half human. He saved this girl, Andromeda, from some badass monster the gods sent to eat her. Cetus was its name I think. One of the Krakens."

Pretty Boy's lips twitch into smile and he shakes his head. "And you say I'm full of surprises."

Aomine shrugs, slightly embarrassed that he's let out his inner geek in front of someone he barely knows, but something about it feels right, feels natural. And the thought pushes back his previous reservations. "I thought the story was pretty cool. Anyway, Perseus ends up saving her and they end up together. The gods honored them by making them into star constellations so they'll always be that way: together, even if they're just lights blinking from a million miles away. That's some bonafide fated shit, if you ask me. But it's all just a bunch of stories."

Something about what Aomine says has Pretty Boy worrying his bottom lip, which does nothing for Aomine's self control in not asking for his name and number again, but before he can revisit the subject, Pretty Boy digs into his pocket and pulls out a five dollar bill and a pen. "Write your name and number on this."

Confused, but somewhat glad that things are starting to look up, Aomine obliges and does as he's asked. "Now what? You got mine; what about yours?"

"Hmm... you're right," Pretty Boy muses, his head swiveling around to find nothing but a snack stand with a small table next to it filled with secondhand books across the street from where they're currently standing. "Hold on a sec." He crosses toward it, picks one of the books at random, uses the five dollar bill to pay for it, and sticks out a hand to hail a cab.

Aomine realizes what's about to happen and he makes to walk over just as the cab eases to a stop in front of the blond. "Wait, wait, wait, hold up-"

"I'm gonna write my name and number on this," Pretty Boy says and holds up a copy of  _The Catcher in the Rye_. "Then, first thing tomorrow morning, I'm going to sell it to the first used book store I see. When it ends up back to you, maybe you'll be more of a believer in fate than something that's 'just a bunch of stories'. Or maybe that five dollar bill will end up making it back to me so I can call you. Either way, it's fate, right?"

"Seriously?" Aomine calls out, arms stretched out at his sides to further emphasize his frustration. "This is bullshit."

But Pretty Boy only smiles, throws him a knowing wink, and gets in the vehicle. Aomine is pretty sure there's no way in hell he's ever going to see him again when the cab slows and the window rolls down. Something comes flying out and only when he catches it does Aomine realize it's the bag from the department store. 

"Hey!" Pretty Boy says with a breathless smile. "It's Kise. My name is Kise." And just like that, the window comes up and the cab drives away, leaving Aomine with nothing but a lone black cashmere glove and a name etched permanently into his memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> -H


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aomine's wedding date looms closer. He reflects back on that night and, with the help of his best friends, sets out to test what fate really has in store for him when he finds the lone glove Kise had given him so many years ago .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POVs alternate between Aomine and Kise from here on out. It starts with Aomine, seven years after Chapter 1 ends. Happy reading! :D
> 
>   [ **Chapter art by dvl on Tumblr. ♥** ](http://drawverylittle.tumblr.com/post/115033110121/atsu-you-see-that-receipt-the-one-that-gave-me)

 

* * *

 

  
_“It matters not how strait the gate, h_ _ow charged with punishments the scroll._ _I am the master of my fate:_ _I am the captain of my soul.”_

-William Ernest Henley

 

* * *

 

Cheers erupt all around the room as a loud pop sounds. A lone cork zooms across and hits the wall opposite from where the head table is situated. The man holding the champagne bottle sheepishly grins before he lifts a hand to quell the noise. 

"Watch it, Bakagami! You’ll take someone's head off!" Aomine heckles, a grin splitting wide across his face. He raises his champagne flute toward the man now rolling his eyes at him. "Might just end up on the front page of  _The New Yorker_  if you're not careful!"

"Just be glad I didn't aim directly at your face, dumbass," comes the retort. Carefully, Kagami tips the bottle to pour the bubbly liquid into his glass. He turns to address the rest of the party. "Now, I know what the rest of you are thinking:  _'Who the hell would wanna marry this idiot?'_ , right?"

His question is met with jeering laughs and a few scattered wolf whistles. All eyes glance at Aomine. The attention makes him uncomfortable, makes him briefly remember a time in his past when attention he received was just as unwanted. But the deja vu ends as quickly as it begins, the attention directed at Kagami once more. Aomine fights the urge not to troll one of his best friends; of all of Kagami's skills, public speaking is not one of them and though he is attempting to shunt aside his aversion, Aomine clearly sees the nervousness Kagami is battling despite the copious amounts of alcohol he's already consumed. 

And "copious" is an understatement. 

Kagami stands at the foot of the table, a slight tremble in his hand from the liquid courage, the impending speech, or both. He clears his throat and instantly, Aomine is sympathetic. Kagami is usually more aggressively spoken, more boisterous, more relaxed in smaller, unpretentiously intimate settings. The banquet hall is jam-packed with their closest family and friends, along with half the city's media outlets, key fashion industry players, and an assortment of faces all known in the basketball circuit and the large crowd seems to work his nerves. There is subtlety to it, one only those closest to Kagami would catch. He looks more like he'd rather be anywhere than where he is right at that very moment. 

Not that Aomine can blame him; he’s not exactly a fan of the over-extravagant event himself. 

"Is that anyway to talk about the man of the hour? You're just jealous 'cause I'm marrying her and not you," Aomine drawls, flinging a dinner roll in Kagami's direction. 

Kagami catches it with ease and he visibly relaxes. Their banter usually helps in situations like these, helps Kagami get into the zone and focus on his task. "Psh, me marry you? So you can throw shit at me for the rest of my life? Keep dreaming. Kuroko’s already beaten you to the punch.” He winks at the blue-haired man seated to his left, who only nods in that impassive way he always does, his mouth quirked into the barest hint of a smile. “And don't think I forgot about the the Gatorade cup you chucked at me when I made MVP, asshole," Kagami adds as an afterthought, his laughter echoed by the others who recall the infamous scene during their first NBA win. 

"That's 'cause everyone knows that shit should've been mine. Got you through that speech though, didn't it?" Aomine smirks and leans back in his seat, his arm extending over the back of the chair next to him. Suddenly, he feels a warmth at his ear followed by Horikita Mai's quiet giggle. 

"He looks like he's warming up just fine. I can't believe you actually threw a roll at him, Daiki-kun. So childish." Mai shakes her head with mock reproach. Her hair ghosts against his skin and causes goosebumps to rise in its wake. "Maybe we should have had Momoi-chan go up there so they can do their speeches together?"

"Already got it handled." He takes a sip of his champagne and uses the glass to point out a familiar face sidling next to Kagami.

" _Ka_ gamin, I can't believe you couldn't wait for me to get out of the ladies' room before you started our speech!" Momoi playfully reprimands him before taking her own flute from the table and raising it. "I know you were excited about giving Dai-chan a sendoff he'll remember, but honestly, save some ammunition for the rest of us."

Momoi's opening line is received with more cheers and murmured agreements to which Aomine rolls his eyes; not out of irritation, but out of easy companionship, a reflexive response to the years-long friendship he holds with both of the people now holding the room's attention.

Kagami chuckles and throws an arm around Momoi's shoulders. "It's Ahomine; there's plenty of ammo to go around!"

"And it's usually his fault, too!" Momoi agrees and throws Aomine a sly wink. "But for all of you who haven't had the chance to get to know Dai-chan on a personal level, consider yourselves lucky."

"Hey! You're supposed to be on my side!" Aomine groans, mocking a scowl. "I got my eye on you two."

" _Unlucky_ , Dai-chan. I meant  _unlucky_. Maybe I need more champagne?" she asks to a round of laughter. 

"Get the girl some champagne!" Aomine calls out, motioning for one of the attendants to bring over another bottle, "just don't let Kagami pop the cork. Someone might lose an eye."

Once Momoi fills her glass, her expression changes as she directs her gaze back to Aomine and Mai. It's softer, filled with affection, and Aomine sees the glassy sheen of her eyes even from where he sits. "For those who know of or have heard of Dai-chan, I don't need to tell you about the basketball star who hit the NBA scene by storm."

"That's just 'cause he was trying to keep up with me," Kagami chimes in, tossing the dinner roll back at Aomine and grinning.

"You wish, Bakagami!"

"I'm going to have to take the dinner rolls away from you two at some point or we're never going to get through this speech," Momoi says with a fond shake of her head. "Anyway, as I was saying before I was interrupted by the throes of flying bread -- you all know about the early start of his career leading up to the game that forever changed his life. But even though his injury made him put the professional basketball circuit behind him, I know that he doesn't regret a single moment of something he loved so much bringing him together with something he loves even more."

Kagami beams at Aomine. "Not only did Mai-chan help Aomine through the injury, but she managed to help him become a better person in spite of it. Which, coincidentally for me, ended up helping me out in the long run when I eventually retired."

Momoi rubs Kagami's hand sympathetically. "When Dai-chan first laid eyes on Mai-chan's  _face_ ," she continues, though by the sound of the room's laughter, Aomine is sure they all understood the subtle jab at his well-known taste for amply-endowed gravure models, "he was a goner. I think he still has his entire collection from way back when he was nothing more than a guy with a basketball and some big dreams."

"I still can't believe you had  _all_  of my magazines," Mai whispers, and Aomine feels her fingertips ghost against his palm before their fingers laced together underneath the table. 

Aomine flushes. The heat rises at his nape from the errant comment, though he knows he should have been expecting it. It still bewilders him at times how he managed to get to the point in his life where any of what is happening is actually real. He never thought he would stop playing basketball, never thought he would make it on to the police force, and never in a million years thought he would one day end up marrying the first woman he had idolized back when he was nothing more than an enthusiastic fan. But here he is, every event, every happenstance leading him right to this very moment. 

And it confuses him that he isn’t as happy as he’s made everyone believe.

Sometimes he thinks about decisions he has made, wonders if they were the right ones. It unsettles him that even after all this time, he is still unsure, that he still checks each random book store for every copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_  and finds each one as empty as the ones before it.

"For those of you who are unlucky enough to not know the man behind the legend," Momoi presses on, "you wouldn't know how he fights for what he wants, how his drive to make himself better pushes others around him want to react in kind, or how much of a limb he's willing to go out on for those he cares about most."

Kagami nods and continues, "Aomine and I have had a long standing friendship. Not as long as him and Momoi, but long enough that even with the jokes and the goofing around, he's someone I know I'd want in my corner. Someone who kicks my ass into gear when the going gets tough. He's been through a lot with me, with Kuroko, with Momoi, and the rest of the idiots from way back in the day, and I can honestly say that even though he's the biggest idiot of all, we wouldn't have him any other way."

"Mai-chan," Momoi says, turning to Mai specifically as she offers a genuine smile, "you've taken our Dai-chan and turned him from a grumpy, lazy, and arrogant idiot to a less grumpy, still lazy, and most definitely still arrogant idiot." She pauses as the room erupts into laughter and waits until it dies down before speaking again. "But because of you, he's happier than I've ever seen him and there's no one more fit for each other than the two of you."

Kagami and Momoi both raise their glasses. "To Daiki and Mai," they say in unison. Everyone else follows suit as Aomine and Mai lift their flutes to mimic the gesture in murmured appreciation.

* * *

 

Parties are never usually Aomine’s forte. Sure, he’d gone to a few here and there in the height of his basketball career; it’s something that’s expected, something that’s normal in his line of work, and even more so when he started dating fashion icon Horikita Mai. 

But though he participates, albeit begrudgingly, it’s no secret that he has always been more at home with low-key activities. When the dinner rehearsal finally begins dispersing, he is the first one out the door. He’s too tired and too over-socialized for his liking. Mai follows behind him and takes his hand, sympathetically rubbing his arm as they exit the building.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a little while longer? Some of the reporters want to ask a few questions, but I completely understand if you’re drained.” Mai smiles, gentle and not without concern. 

There is no agenda hidden in her remark, nothing to suggest that he should reconsider leaving, but he feels guilty all the same. She’s used to the attention, the fame, the constant prying into her personal life, and their upcoming wedding is no exception. But he isn’t and sometimes he wonders if he would ever acclimate. 

“I’m just gonna turn in. I gotta head into the station tomorrow to prep for my leave, so I should probably get some sleep anyway.”

“Oh, right. I totally forgot.” She pauses before tilting her head to look him in the eye. Aomine knows it’s her way of gauging his reaction, of reading his expression to figure out what she should say next. It makes him wary, makes him feel like she says things to suit his moods instead of being completely honest. “Do you want me to go with you? I’m sure the press will have other opportunities to get their questions answered. I really don’t mind.”

“Nah, I’m good,” he says, tipping her face up a fraction and stealing a quick kiss. Nothing overly passionate, nothing too eye-popping for the photographers staked outside to capture. “You go do your thing and I’m gonna-”

“So that’s where you snuck off to!” 

Aomine turns toward the entrance of the hotel to find Kagami with Kuroko and Momoi in tow. Kuroko’s hair is sticking up in odd places and Aomine bites back a chuckle because he knows Kuroko had probably fallen asleep before Kagami roused him to leave. It gives him a modicum of comfort knowing he isn’t the only one that was ready to call it a night. Even Momoi, who is usually a ball of energy, seems completely spent even if she hides it better than he does. 

“I didn’t sneak off, idiot. How the hell was I supposed to know you were looking for me?”

Momoi groans and lightly smacks his arm. “Dai-chan, stop being so crabby. We were just waiting for you to leave and didn’t realize you already did.”

Kuroko pipes up from the edge of the curb, a cab already idling alongside him. “I know you’re all tired. Would you mind if we save this argument for later? The taxi is here.”

“Come on, Aho. You can ride with us,” Kagami says with a roll of his eyes. “I should probably leave your grumpy ass here for being a jerk when we waited for you, but Momoi and Kuroko would feel bad.”

“Whatever. I’m too tired to argue with you anyway.” Aomine turns to face Mai again as he fights a yawn. “I’ll see you at home?”

“I won’t be too late,” she promises and gives him a kiss that lingers, sweet and familiar, but for some reason, lacks the usual contentment it gave him. “Mm, love you... Now go before they change their mind.”

Aomine concedes with another grumble. He tucks a stray hair behind Mai’s ear and sleepily nods before he piles into the cab with the others.

* * *

 

The cab ride seems longer than usual. Aomine silently watches cars and buildings and streetlights blur into one, all the same thing but not, linking together like pieces of some greater puzzle; like they are supposed to be there, a part of each other as much as they are a part of something bigger than themselves. He wonders if anything in his life is that way, wonders if everything his life really has just been is a collection of incidents that are unrelated but coming together to bringing him right where he is at that very moment, regardless of and because of his choices. 

Again, doubt hits him, heavy and churning and plaguing. What if he had chosen wrong? What if, somewhere along the way, one decision derailed everything else?

Then, something pops into his head, something he hasn’t thought about in years. A face with eyes like liquid gold, fire-born and warm like the sun. His head whirls back to catch a glimpse of the billboard that he’s certain triggered the memory.

“Something is wrong with Aomine-kun.”

“He looks fine to m-” Kagami halts mid-sentence and leans in for a better look, much to Aomine’s chagrin. “On second thought, you do look kinda pale. Like you’ve seen a ghost or something. But it’s hard to tell ‘cause it’s dark and you’re dark.”

“Kagami-kun, you’re not being helpful.”

Kagami makes some sort of offhanded gesture in Kuroko’s direction and rolls his eyes. He turns back to Aomine. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anyway, what’s eatin’ your shorts?”

Aomine stares back, somewhat bewildered at their observation, and scoffs. “Hah? I’m fine; just tired from all the stupid socializing.”

“Dai-chan, if you think you’re getting off that easy, you obviously don’t know us as well as we know you,” Momoi chastises and puffs her cheeks out reproachfully. “It’s not just right now, either. We know something’s been bugging you since the rehearsal dinner.”

“I’m fine,” Aomine repeats and wishes they would all just drop the subject. Even if he says what he’s been thinking out loud, it wouldn’t do any good. There’s no point in making things worse. “It’s nothing. I told you; I’m just tired.”

“Bullshit.”

Everyone in the cab falls silent as Aomine, Kagami, and Momoi all turn wide-eyed stares at Kuroko. Aomine expects the callous remark from Kagami, from Momoi even, but Kuroko has always been quiet, has always kept to himself when it comes to things like this. His forward statement, firm and unyielding, jars him. 

Aomine blinks. “Huh?”

“Kuroko?”

“Tetsu-kun?”

Kuroko’s resolve doesn’t waver. “I said it’s bullshit,” he repeats and turns to face them all, expression unfazed. “You are bothered by something and it is big enough that you are distracted by it. We’re your friends, Aomine-kun. We want to help you, but we can’t do anything if you’re going to continue acting like an idiot.”

Kuroko has always been blunt when he actually manages to make himself heard, but the observation hits him out of left field and prompts the thoughts in his head to jump start again. He supposes there’s no harm in bringing it up, especially since his three closest friends seem intent on driving it out of him no matter how much he tries to deny it.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he confesses. His head bows as he sweeps calloused hands over his slightly disheveled hair in sudden exasperation. How could he explain his thoughts, explain the odd apprehension he’s been feeling as the countdown to the rest of his life draws closer? He’s not unhappy; with all things considered, this is probably one of the few times he’s felt settled, grounded, set in his ways. But something inside him gnaws at the complacency, picks at the routinely mundane life he has, questions everything that has led up to where he is, even with his relationship with Mai.

“What do you mean?” Kuroko prompts. “Are you having second thoughts about Mai-san?”

“I thought it was just cold feet.” Momoi’s lips purse as her attention falls on him, appraising and calculating, as though she could figure it out, figure  _him_  out, just by looking. Aomine hates it, hates the vulnerability he feels under her scrutiny. “That’s normal, though. Even Kagamin and Tetsu-kun had a bout with it before they got married.”

Aomine is floored. Of all the people he knows, Kagami and Kuroko are the most solid in terms of relationships, the most compatible, and it has never occurred to him that they could be anything else. “Serious?”

“In my defense, Kagami-kun was worse,” Kuroko offers from the front seat, his mouth twitching into the barest hint of a grin.

“What?! No way! You were the one trying to drink yourself to death with vanilla shakes right before the ceremony.” Kagami mutters something unintelligible under his breath as Momoi pats his arm consolingly. 

“Says the one trying to eat Maji Burger out of business,” Kuroko says. His eyes crinkle at the corners when the grin fully materializes. “But we made it to the ceremony on time anyway, so your argument is moot.”

“With my help,” Momoi adds, settling in her seat, arms crossed over her chest with a smugness Aomine knows only too well. 

“Of course,” Kuroko agrees. The subtle wink he throws Kagami before turning his attention back to the road doesn’t escape Aomine and he makes a sound that catches between a snort and a chuckle.

“Always doing embarrassing things,” Kagami mutters next to him, his large palm clamping against his face as he attempts to hide his flustered reaction.

Aomine slouches in his seat and scoffs. “I still can’t believe I missed all that. Stupid alarm clock. I almost didn’t make it to that second flight, too.”

“Only you would be lazy enough to miss my fucking wedding. I even made your dumb ass best man.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m the  _best man_ ,” Aomine says with a smirk, to which Kagami promptly answers with a sock to the arm. “Oi! Cut that out, Bakagami!”

“Idiot,” Kagami mumbles, though not without affection.

“I’m sure it’s just cold feet, Dai-chan. You’ve been pining away for Mai-chan since middle school. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever really seen you interested in anyone else that way.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve gone out with other people,” Aomine grumbles, somewhat uncomfortable now that he’s been put back in the spotlight. 

There were a few casual relationships he knows Momoi had heard about through the grapevine. His discretion usually earned him an earful for not relaying the information straight from the source. But in his defense, none of the people he has ever been involved with warranted mentions.

_Except one..._

“Yeah, I remember. stupid Dai-chan.” Momoi’s brow wrinkles in thought and she narrows her eyes as though she were trying to remember something, anything significant that would serve as proof to back up her claim. “But Mai-chan’s always been on another level, you know? You’ve never been as into someone as much as you were with her.”

The same face pops into his head again, vivid and clear as though the memory were a few days instead of a few years old. 

“That’s not exactly true,” Aomine says slowly, directing his gaze out the window. Heat prickles underneath his skin like a current. He clamps a hand at his nape and sighs, unwilling to face their scrutiny just yet. “There was someone else, a few years back...”

“What? Do I know her? Why didn’t you  _tell_  me? Honestly, Dai-chan, I’m always the last to know!”

“When the hell was this? And you didn’t bother to tell us about her?!”

Aomine shrinks against the door, steepling his fingers before rubbing the peak against his forehead while he tries to figure out how to explain exactly what his encounter was. It isn’t until Kuroko pipes up that the others quiet down, his voice as calm and collected as it’s always been.

“Momoi-san, Kagami-kun, please let Aomine-kun speak.”

The cab eases to a stop in front of Aomine's apartment building and he motions for them to get out. 

“You guys might as well come up. It’s a long story.” He pauses and takes a deep breath; if he is going to tell them about it, he might as well be completely honest, judgement be damned. “It’s not a ‘ _her_ ’, exactly.” 

His latter statement is met with slack-jawed stares and stunned silence. The reaction prompts him to turn his face away, warmth igniting in his cheeks accompanied by a mild irritation that he’s just been prodded to confess something he’s never told anyone, ever. Opening the door, he slides out and walks up to the building’s entrance without another word.

* * *

 

“Wait a sec, are you trying to tell me you’re into guys?” Kagami asks incredulously as he pops open the beer Aomine tosses him.

“What?! No! I-” The words sound forced, empty of conviction, even as he says them out loud if only to hear them himself. Aomine sets the rest of the drinks on the coffee table and drags a hand down his face. He sinks into the seat next to Momoi. His hands cradle his face, palms pressed against his eyelids as though the pressure could relieve his confusion, his indecision. “I guess,  _I don’t know._  I’ve never really thought about it.” His own admission stuns him and for a moment, no one says anything, no one moves. 

Kagami is the first to break the silence. “Well, you gotta think about it now, asshat. You’re getting married in a couple of days. It might be nice to know if you’re still swinging for the same team.”

“That’s fucking stupid. I’m still into girls, moron.” Aomine’s jaw tightens at the assumption. His teeth clench and the weight of Kagami’s statement sinks into his gut and settles there, leaving him uneasy. Save for that one instance, Aomine has never had any encounters that made him question that part of himself. But now, under full scrutiny from the three people he trusted most, the thought of bisexuality grapples with his mind. It sinks deeper and allows the idea to latch on, to marinate and slowly grow.

“What do you think it is, then?” Kuroko asks, his expression genuinely curious.

“Like I said before - I honestly couldn’t tell you.” He grabs one of the unopened beers, pops off the bottle cap, and takes a long swig, the cold sensation calming his nerves some. “It was weird, like some magnetic force shit. I’m pretty sure I made an idiot out of myself the entire time.”

“Just because you were attracted to him doesn’t mean anything, Dai-chan. You’ve been attracted to other people before, right? How is this any different?” Momoi stretches her legs out and over the armrest of the couch, her back angled so that it rests against Aomine’s arm. She motions for his beer and promptly takes a sip before handing it back to him. 

“It just was,” he says, frustrated that he can’t explain it better, can’t explain the flashes of warmth he feels whenever he mind drifts back to that night. There’s nothing he can say that wouldn’t sound incredibly lame or sentimental, that wouldn’t make him seem completely crazy for having doubts about marrying one of the hottest models in the industry all because of some guy he met a million years ago. “I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t get it either. But I know it was there. I  _felt_  that shit.”

“But you haven’t mentioned anything until now, Aomine-kun. Maybe it’s your mind trying to work through your wedding jitters. It would not make sense for you to jeopardize things because of something that happened so long ago.”

Aomine takes another swig of the beer and drops his head against the back of the couch. “I know, Tetsu,” he says, his eyes closing. “I just wanna make sure I go into this without any doubts, you know? This shit’s a big deal. I don’t wanna wake up one day and realize I made a mistake.”

“Now you’re the one being stupid,” Kagami quips, taking a few gulps of his beer before he offers it to Kuroko, who politely declines. “Mai’s the best thing to happen to you and you’re talking like you’re seriously considering not going through with it.”

“Dai-chan,” Momoi says gently, angling her head back to look at him, “do you even know where the guy is now? If he feels any of this-” She pauses and obscurely gestures, her hand sweeping through empty air. “-if he even remembers it?”

“I don’t know,” Aomine mutters with a sigh. “He kept talking about fate and all that crap and I guess a part of me’s always wondered if he was right, if we’re supposed to meet up again and I just need to be patient.”

Kagami snorts. “You? Patient? That’s rich.”

“That’s why you put off proposing,” Momoi murmurs with new-found understanding. “I always wondered what took you so long when you’ve been together for ages.”

“You’re not actually buying into this, are you, Momoi?” Kagami asks, somewhat incredulous. While Kagami is usually on his side, there are things he takes to heart, things he considers important enough to take a stand on, and it seems Aomine’s relationship with Mai is one of them. “Okay, I get he’s scared; who wouldn’t be? I sure as hell was when I got married. But this feels wrong, you know? I mean, we just came from your goddamn rehearsal dinner for fuck’s sake.”

“What Kagami-kun means to say is that it’s all right to be scared.” Kuroko leans forward, his elbows propped against his knees. He glances at Aomine, “Kagami-kun is right. You have a good relationship with Mai-san; she’s good for you. You’ve worked hard for what you have, for how far you’ve gotten. You need to clear your head and maybe then you’ll forget about this.”

Aomine taps the side of Momoi’s head with the tip of the bottle. “Satsuki? What about you?”

Momoi is silent for a moment, the pregnant pause finally broken by a sigh as she swings her legs off the armrest and turns to face him. “I agree with them. I think you should think about it,  _really_  think about it, before you do something you can’t take back.”

Logic times three is hard to fight; after all, it’s the reason he opened up about it in the first place. To get advice. To prevent him from making a mistake he’ll regret. 

“Yeah, you guys are probably right.” He finishes off his beer and sets the empty bottle on the table. “It’s getting late. I gotta head into the station tomorrow, so I’m gonna knock out. Satsuki, lock up behind you when you leave?”

Momoi nods and throws her arms around him, the hug tight, genuine, and undoubtedly comforting. “Sure thing, Dai-chan,” she says and plants a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Just think about it. Sleep on it,” Kagami says, a hint of sympathy behind the offered advice as he, too, stands and makes his way toward the door. 

“Sleep well, Aomine-kun.” Kuroko follows Kagami’s lead and gives Aomine a small smile when he passes.

Aomine is already in bed when he hears the door shut and the lock click, signaling their departure. He lays there for a while, staring at the ceiling, going over every detail of their earlier conversation. 

An hour later, it dawns on him that he’s forgotten to turn up the thermostat, the temperature in the room slowly dropping the longer he remains sprawled across the bed. “Shit,” he mutters.

The cold permeates through the double layer of blankets and leaves his feet uncomfortably chilly. Grumbling as he throws off the covers, he shuffles over to the stack of half-packed boxes containing his drawers’ contents, a result of his unfinished packing attempts. He curses himself for failing to label each box when he’d actually packed them, the profanities worse when he realizes he doesn’t remember which box he’s stuffed his socks in. After rummaging through his third container, he mumbles, “Fucking  _finally_ ,” when he finds one of his warmer pairs and quickly tugs them on. 

He’s about to trudge back into bed when something catches his eye. Bending down in front of the box again, he grabs the visible corner and unearths a small department store bag. He knows he shouldn’t look, shouldn’t tempt himself more than he needs to, but common sense has always been something he’s lacked. Turning the bag upside down, he takes a deep breath and holds it for a beat longer than necessary before giving the bag a good shake. 

The lone black glove falls out, a store receipt quietly fluttering to the floor after it, and Aomine’s heart sinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are just getting started. :D I hope the time skip didn't confuse anyone!
> 
> -H


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kise's modeling career opens new doors for him. When he's offered a role in a movie that's set to shoot in New York City, a memory from a night years ago resurfaces and forces him to question the new development in his own relationship.

* * *

 

  
_“Yet it would be your duty to bear it, if you could not avoid it: it is weak and silly to say you cannot bear what it is your fate to be required to bear.”_

-Charlotte Brontë

 

* * *

Finally, the week is over. 

After so many meetings and back to back shoots, the days seem to run together and Kise often finds trouble deciphering where one ends and another begins. It's a wonder he still has the stamina he does after so many years in the modeling industry, but rare nights like this, nights when he can lay back in a warm bath and just  _relax_  that he finds time to breathe, to recharge, to recuperate.

That is, until his phone rings. 

The shrill noise of the custom ringtone cuts through the silence and echoes throughout the extravagantly large bathroom. It startles him enough that his footing slips when he reacts to the sound, accidentally submerging into the bubble-filled water. When he resurfaces, sputtering and pushing his dripping hair out of his face, he glares at the phone like he would rather drop it in the tub than answer it. “Whoever you are, you are so getting fired later,” he mutters. 

With a scoff, he leans back and rests his head against the edge of the clawfoot bathtub, placing a cool washcloth over his tired eyes. He debates answering, wonders if whoever is on the other line is worth breaking the first minute of peace he's gotten all week, but decides against it just as the ringing stops. He exhales slowly, relieved that the caller can take a hint. He shifts in the tub, determined to get as much out of his bath before the water turns tepid, when the phone begins wailing again.

Kise grumbles and dips just beneath the water's surface. He knows he should answer; only someone from his staff would call his private line more than once, especially during his free time. And if they're willing to interrupt him, Kise is sure whatever news they have is most likely important and he should probably move from his sublimely comfortable position to see what it is they want.

Begrudgingly, he reemerges just in time to catch the last beat of the chorus, his finger leaving a wet streak across the phone's surface when he swipes to answer. 

"You sure took your time," a voice drawls from the other end of the line. "Almost seems like you didn't want to talk to me." 

"Hatoricchi," Kise says with a certain fondness. His irritation ebbs away, albeit slowly, at the sound of Hatori Kyouya's voice, husked and obviously hinting at the scowl he knows Hatori is most likely wearing. It's been nearly a month since Kise had last seen him and, though he's somewhat glad for the small vacation, he knows the longer he's gone only makes it that much harder to keep Hatori comfortable, secure enough not to make his job a fighting point for their next argument. "I was taking a bath and didn't see the caller ID. It's been a long day."

"It's always a long day with you. I feel like we haven't talked all week." There is definite resentment buried beneath the velvet tone, gravel that scratches the smooth delivery enough to make him flinch. But Kise is used to it by now; they had been together long enough for him to spot the fire before the smoke consumes him. 

"Don't exaggerate. You know my work's important. Besides, it's only been two days," Kise points out before heaving a long sigh. His earlier irritation is making a spectacular comeback and he sinks back into the bath, head partially submerged and tiny bubbles breaking the surface where his lips meet the water. While he admits to missing Hatori during his extended absences, conversations like these sometimes make him wonder why. Hatori, of all people, should know better than anyone the grueling work schedule Kise keeps; the hours upon hours pieced together like carefully constructed slots of time crafted into a life that, at times, doesn't feel like much of a life at all. "You're the one that books the jobs. I can't go longer than that without talking to my manager."

"And your boyfriend?" Hatori shoots back, pretenses gone as his voice cuts like tempered steel. "Or is that all I am now, your  _manager_?"

"You know I didn't mean it that way." Kise manages to soften his own voice, coaxing and patient, all in the interest of avoiding another fight. "Can we not do this right now? It really has been a shitty day. The photographer for the last shoot had to redo a bunch of the shots indoors because the guys with the equipment were late and he missed his 'lighting opportunity'."

"Not do what? Talk? And don't you give me that 'two day' bullshit. Texts and emails about work don't count as talking." A long pause follows and Kise hears Hatori inhale slowly, a calming mechanism he knows all too well. "Look, I'm sorry. I just miss you, that's all. Is it so bad that I want to talk to my boyfriend about other things besides an extra interview that was added to your schedule or an emergency fitting for your next shoot? Cut me some slack, okay?"

When Hatori's switch flips, it's hard for Kise not to take his words to heart. He knows he works more than most people, has taken pride in the fact that his career is built entirely on the integrity of his work ethic and the quality of the brand he's fashioned out of his name. He knows, too, that Hatori's points are not without merit. But still, it doesn't negate the fact that he's exhausted and having to coddle Hatori when he's in one of his confrontational moods isn't something Kise wants to deal with. 

"I'm not the one trying to start a fight over the phone," Kise reminds him, his hand rising from the lukewarm bath to brush his dampened hair from his face. "I miss you, too, but I'm just so tired that I probably miss my bed almost as much. I was trying to relax so I can get a few hours of sleep before my early flight tomorrow."

He hears Hatori sigh heavily before his tone changes to something more professional. "About that. I did actually call for something work-related. Your flight's been changed. Hamada-san wants you in the office before noon, so I've booked your flight for ten thirty tonight instead of the eight o'clock tomorrow morning. He seemed really excited about something, but wanted to wait until you were here to discuss it."

"You're joking, right? That gives me less than an hour to pack up and head to the airport. Couldn't you push the meeting later? I thought that was your job?" Kise asks, the question rising in an obvious whine. He was looking forward to a last nice, slow night in Paris, possibly with room service and a romantic comedy or two before passing out. Rushing to the airport for a red eye flight is definitely not on his agenda. "Besides, none of my stuff's packed and I'm naked in the tub."

"Then get un-naked. I already took care of your luggage. I got a hold of Ayato before I called you. He can have the porter take your things down while you get ready. Hamada-san knows you've been working non-stop for the past month, so I'm sure he wouldn't ask for an early meeting unless he had a good reason. You said work was important, right? This is work." There's a certain smugness in Hatori's tone that grates on Kise's nerves. He's right, of course, but the execution leaves Kise just short of seething with the delivery.

"Fine," Kise snaps, his entire body heavy with the want for sleep and causing a lack in the usual firmness he has when it comes to the flexibility of his schedule. The sooner he boards the plane, the closer he is to getting at least a modicum of sleep before he has to be presentable for the agency the next day. "I'm gonna get dressed then."

"Ryouta?" Hatori's voice catches before Kise can end the call. He knows what's coming next, knows that despite the almost fight they just had, Hatori wouldn't end a conversation without saying it. 

"Hm?"

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. "I love you. Have a safe flight."

"Thanks, I will." And then, because it's become an almost automatic response before he hangs up, "Love you, too."

* * *

 

Fortunately, the rush to the airport and the flight that follows isn’t as horrible as Kise first thought. He wakes to the sound of the pilot’s voice over the airplane’s intercom system, somewhat rested, though he thinks a few more hours of sleep might not sound so terrible. He blinks groggily and forces himself to keep his eyes open as he stretches out, body arching with a sort of natural grace while he loosens his aching muscles. 

“Oh, good. You’re awake. Saved me the trouble.” Ayato grins while Kise busies himself with righting his seat. A double ding above them signals the use of their lapbelts, the lights in the Business Class cabin flickering on as the aircraft begins its descent. “I would have woken you sooner, but you seemed so exhausted. I hope you don’t mind. We can make a pit stop at the terminal restroom if you want to freshen up a little. The flight’s early, so we have a little time before the car service shows up.”

“Yeah, sounds good to me,” Kise mumbles, his voice hoarse with sleep. He reaches up behind him and grasps the headrest to get in a final stretch before settling into his seat. Lifting the window shade, he peers out to find a familiar sight: endless stretches of clouds, somewhat transparent, blanketing the sky with a waking Los Angeles thousands of feet below. Even with the news from his agent hanging in the balance, the unknown previously leaving knots of anxiety in his belly, the sight of home makes him feel at ease. “Is there anything else on my schedule today besides the meeting with Hamadacchi?”

Ayato scrolls through his PDA and nods. “A few things, but not much. Just a short conference call with the Marketing Director for the new PR firm and lunch scheduled with Takao-san.”

“Oh, right. I almost forgot about that call. What was it supposed to be about again? Wait, never mind. I’ll think about it later.” Kise yawns into the window’s glass, the tip of his finger pressing against the cool surface and drawing small hearts over the fine mist before the shapes gradually disappear. It isn’t until his stomach emits an audible gurgle that he realizes he hasn’t had anything to eat since the night before. The small sandwich he picked up in the terminal seems like a distant memory now and he turns to Ayato, his lip jutting out into a small pout. “I’m starving. Are we going to have time to get breakfast before we head over to the agency?”

“Kasamatsu-san’s riding with the car service and I texted him your Starbucks order before we boarded last night.”

Kise’s pout dissolves, replaced instead by a wide grin. He shakes his head with an air of fondness. “Sometimes I don’t know what I’d do without you. Extra shots, right?” he asks, turning back to the window as the airport runway comes into view. “I have a feeling I’m going to need them today.”

“I have it covered. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

Ayato pats his shoulder and Kise can picture the look of sympathy he’s mostly likely wearing. While he’s almost certain Ayato is right, he can’t help but feel like the day is going to seem much longer than he anticipates regardless.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

* * *

 

Making it out of the airport with his luggage in tow takes a little longer than Kise currently has the patience for. He had hoped to get through the crowds with little recognition, something he intentionally dresses down for, but it seems even his knitted cap and dark sunglasses couldn’t hide the fact that he  _is_  Kise Ryouta, bumwear or not.

By the time they’re through, Kise’s hand is sore from the number of signatures he’s given and they’re running nearly an hour later than he anticipates. When he slides into the backseat of the blacked out SUV next to Kasamatsu Yukio, his head of security, the coffee and breakfast sandwich he’s handed are lukewarm and he grumbles in disappointment. “It’s better than nothing, I guess,” he says and takes a sip before pulling out his phone to check the time. It’s then he notices the missed calls and unanswered texts from Hatori. “Shit.”

“You better call him before he pops a vein,” Kasamatsu comments with a snort. He downs the rest of the coffee he’s been nursing and nods toward Kise’s phone. 

For whatever reason, the action irks him, and his relief at being back home lessens considerably. He's been on the ground for little more than an hour and already Hatori has him feeling suffocated. Kasamatsu picking up on the tense situation doesn’t help much either, even if it  _is_  his job to notice things most people wouldn’t. “Let me guess; he’s called you already?”

“Before your plane landed and texted every half hour after. I told him you were probably stuck in baggage or caught signing autographs. He didn’t seem too happy about that.” Kasamatsu offhandedly shrugs and Kise knows it’s his way of staying out of it.

“That’s not surprising,” Kise mutters and takes to gulping down a few more mouthfuls of coffee before hurriedly typing out a text response to Hatori. Next, he sends a few to Takao to confirm their lunch date. “I don’t know why he makes a big deal out of it. He knows I get bombarded at the airport, especially at LAX. The photographers practically stake out the place and once they spot me, there’s no getting out of it.”

“I know it, but then again, I’m the one trying to keep those idiots from mauling you.” 

Kasamatsu chuckles and soon, Kise joins in, shaking his head as he cards a hand through his hair. “I still can’t believe that girl with the fanclub t-shirt tried to grab my ass. This stuff never gets old.”

“It’s good to have a sense of humor about it. Otherwise, it’ll drive you crazy.”

“I hope you’re almost done with your breakfast, Kise-san. We’re almost there,” Ayato pipes up from the front passenger seat. 

He turns around and hands over a napkin and some breath mints, which Kise gratefully takes. Their rush through Arrivals hadn’t left him time to stop by the restrooms and he quietly groans at the thought of the mess he must look. “I’m inhaling it now,” he says, the words muffled between bites and gulps of coffee.

“Good, because Hatori-san’s waiting by the entrance and he doesn’t look too happy.”

Kise groans around the last mouthful of his breakfast sandwich. Quickly, he swallows and mutters, “ _Fantastic_ ,” before he exits the vehicle and flashes Hatori one of his winning smiles. “Hey--”

“You’re late,” comes the response, Hatori’s scowl unfaltering as he motions Kise into the building and follows behind him.

The agency’s foyer is bustling with activity, people pausing briefly to greet them as they pass. When the elevator bell dings, they all step inside before Kise retorts, “You know that wasn’t my fault.”

“It’s not like you tried all that hard to get here any quicker. I know you thrive on the attention, but this is work. Hamada-san’s been waiting almost a half hour.” It seems Hatori has given up on pretending to be civil and it only furthers Kise’s already disgruntled mood. 

“That’s work, too. They’re my fans. Keeping up appearances and putting up with the attention is part of my job. What’s your problem, anyway? You sound like you got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. I’m the one that had to sleep on the stupid plane while you got to lounge around on my bed.”

“So it’s  _your_  bed now, is it?”

“I’m not doing this here,” Kise hisses, his jaw clenching. He chances a look at Ayato and Kasamatsu, who at least have the good sense to pretend as though they aren’t being subjected to the beginning of World War III. A part of him is a little disappointed. After all, Kasamatsu, at least, is known for his verbal outbursts, always going on about how he’s the only one allowed to give Kise a hard time. But he supposes it’s for the best; it probably isn’t appropriate to start fighting where there are so many eyes and ears to field gossip-worthy news. Finally, the elevator stops, its doors opening to let everyone out. Kise hears sighs of relief from behind him and he silently echoes the sentiment. 

“I’ll wait out here,” Kasamatsu says when they reach the end of the hall. He gives a short nod, warily eyeing Hatori, before opening one of the double doors of the main conference room to let them inside. 

“Hamadacchi!” Kise chirps with his most charming smile. “Sorry we’re late! I got ambushed at the airport and well, you know how it is.” He exaggerates a wave of his hand before depositing himself into one of the plush, high-backed executive chairs. “So what’s this news that couldn’t wait?”

“You always did know how to pull off an entrance, Kise-kun,” Hamada says with a jovial laugh. As annoyed as Hatori had been when Kise first arrived, Kise anticipated a less welcoming response. Hamada’s mood, however, seems relaxed, happy even, and it takes away some of the apprehension twisting in his gut. “Don’t worry, I won’t keep you. Ayato has already informed me that you have somewhere else you need to be.”

“It’s just lunch,” Kise says, “and besides, I’ve got all the time in the world for my favorite agent.”

“I’m your  _only_  agent,” Hamada reminds him, teasing. “Anyway, I wanted to sit down and tell you in person so we can go over the details and I can give the producers a decision by today.”

Kise blinks. “A decision?”

“You got the part.”

“Which one?” Kise asks, perking up at the news. He’s gone on a number of auditions in the past couple of months, and though he likes all the roles enough to put his name in for consideration, there is only one project in particular he’s had his sights on since the casting announcement. 

“The audition you did for the rom-com a few months ago. They called me yesterday morning and offered you the part for the lead.” Hamada looks overly pleased, his mouth stretched wide into an approving smile.

“Shut  _up_... seriously?”

“Seriously. Filming starts next month, providing we can negotiate the terms of your contract by the end of the week.”

“Where are they filming?” This time, Hatori speaks before Kise has the chance, his smile tight-lipped and lacking any genuine excitement.

“New York City. Mostly in Manhattan, but they have a few days scheduled in some of the more residential areas. You should be more excited, Hatori-san. This is going to open a lot of new doors for Kise’s career.”

“Of course I’m excited,” Hatori manages, his expression turning apologetic. The smile he wears brightens considerably, though Kise knows him well enough to see the strain that lingers beneath the surface. “It’s what Kise’s always wanted.”

* * *

 

Wrapping up the meeting doesn’t take as long as Kise anticipated. Hamada is lighthearted, easy to deal with, more so now with Kise’s first movie role under his belt. They leave the conference room in good spirits, despite Hatori’s somewhat sullen reaction to the unexpected news. 

Before they reach the elevator bank where Kasamatsu and Ayato are waiting, Hatori grabs his elbow and pulls him off to the side. The way his eyes darken startle Kise for a moment, dim embers of something brimming beneath the determined gaze suddenly making him anxious. He wonders what Hatori is thinking now, wonders what could be so important that he has to say whatever it is right at that very moment.

“Marry me.”

Kise blinks, his eyes widening a fraction. He’s speechless and for a long moment, he stands there, his mouth slightly agape as he stares in obvious confusion. Of all the things Hatori could have said, this is not one that Kise expects, not one he’s prepared for, and it warps his brain into a sort of dumbfounded state while he tries to wrap his mind around the proposal. 

“W-What?” he manages to croak out, the lump in his throat causing a hoarseness that wasn’t there moments before.

“You heard me. This wasn’t exactly how I pictured popping the question, but I don’t know,” Hatori says with a shrug. There is a desperation in his eyes that contradict the casual way he words his explanation. “We were eventually going down that road anyway, right? I thought, why not now?”

“I-” Kise’s verbal coherency is again compromised. It takes a lot to leave him speechless in general and this, by far, is one of the only things that has him scrambling to understand. “But that’s exactly it.  _Why_  now?”

“Do I really need to spell it out for you?” Hatori sighs and runs his fingers through his hair without realizing it. It’s a tick Kise recognizes, one he knows well and something Hatori only ever does when he’s frustrated to a certain degree. Hatori takes more pride in his appearance than Kise on a good day and his subconscious disregard for it raises flags. “Your career is going to skyrocket after this and I guess I wanted reassurance it’s still you and me, that I wasn’t going to be left behind.” His gaze is pleading, imploring for an understanding that Kise struggles to show. “I want this. I want  _you_.”

“You  _have_  me,” Kise says, matching Hatori’s sigh with one of his own. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this now. Can’t we talk about it later?”

Hatori’s expression falls. “Don’t you want this?” 

It dawns on Kise that Hatori expects an answer and in truth, there really isn’t anything he can think of why he should say no. Their relationship has its bumps, sure, but Hatori understands him, understands his work and the sacrifices with his time he’s had to make to get where he is. But still, it doesn’t escape him that maybe he throws himself into his work more than he should as a distraction from other aspects of his life, Hatori included. 

“I do,” Kise says, trying to hide the hint of hesitation that catches in his voice. “Are  _you_  sure it’s what you really want?”

“Yeah. It is,” Hatori responds without missing a beat.

“Then let’s do it.” His lips curve into one of his thousand-watt smiles, all sun and brilliance, one he’s perfected over the years to hide everything that lays beneath the mask. 

Hatori seems too preoccupied with this answer to notice and before Kise realizes what’s happening, Hatori is kissing him, cool hands cradling his face. It’s curious then that at the very moment Kise feels the warmth of his lips, it isn’t Hatori’s face that pops into his head, but someone else, someone whose eyes resemble the dark blue of an endless midnight sky. 

* * *

 

“He  _what_?!”

“Proposed,” Kise repeats, watching Takao’s response with a mixture of amusement and dejection. 

“Crap! Oh cr--” Takao Kazunari, Kise’s best friend and resident go-to for all things advice-worthy, sputters incoherently while he attempts to mop up the drink he’s spilled after hearing the news. 

A server rushes to their table, armed with towels and a serving tray. “Let me get that for you.” 

“Nah, it’s good. I think I’m good,” Takao manages before he offers an apologetic grin. What remains of his drink rolls over the edge of the table and drips in slow patters onto the floor and he cringes, sheepish at the outcome. “Actually, yeah, help might be good. Thanks.” 

“Of course,” the server replies with a nod and signals one of the others to replace the spilled cocktail. Her gaze zeroes in on Kise. “You’re Ryouta Kise!” she squeaks before clamping a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to blurt it out - it’s just, oh my god, I’m  _such_  a huge fan.”

Kise takes it in stride; he’s become seasoned to the attention and while he usually doesn’t mind it, the weight of his conversation with Takao still hangs in the air. He flashes her one of his practiced smiles, one he wears often enough that he sometimes finds it hard to distinguish it from the real thing. “Thanks, I appreciate it,” he says, bracing himself for what would come next.

“I know you’re in the middle of something, but would you mind at all if I got your autograph? Maybe have my picture taken? Wait ‘til the girls in the back hear about this,” she breathes with noticeable reverence. “We just saw your six-page spread in Vogue and haven’t been able to stop talking about it!”

“Ah,” Kise begins, brow raising at Takao, who only shrugs in response, mouth upturned in an amused smirk. “Sure? If it’s quick, of course I wouldn’t mind!”

“Quick”, it turns out, is nearly half an hour. Kise is more worried that the momentum of his current conversation would wilt, but every time he steals a glance at Takao, his pleading look is only met with barely audible snickers as Takao watches Kise’s predicament with obvious enjoyment.

When the autographs and pictures are finally through, Kise plants his hand over his eyes and groans. “I’m sorry about that. I honestly thought I’d be safe here.”

Takao gives him a dismissive wave and shrugs. “Perks of the job, right?” he quips. “Besides, it was kind of funny seeing you try to rush through all the pictures and stuff. Gave me something to laugh about.”

“Kazunaricchi is so cruel,” Kise mutters, though not without affection. 

Once the server returns to clear the spilled mess and Takao’s new drink arrives, he turns back to Kise with a sort of pensive air. It’s no secret that Takao isn’t particularly fond of Hatori, though, to his credit, he does try to keep his comments on neutral ground when he acts as Kise’s venting box. Still, the animosity Takao holds is clear enough that it sometimes has Kise wondering how someone he’s supposed to be with can manage to get on Takao’s almost non-existent shit list. “So... what did you say?” 

Kise takes a sip of his cocktail, which says enough about the day he’s having since it’s in the middle of the afternoon, and shrinks back in his seat. He avoids Takao’s probing gaze, his eyebrows pinching together with an involuntary grimace. “I said yes.” 

He braces himself for a smart-mouthed retort, maybe even some disappointment, but when he glances in Takao’s direction, his expression holds anything but. There is worry etched into the lines of his face, sympathy acting as an overlay and the mix causes Kise to sigh. He absently runs his fingers through his hair, but says nothing until he’s sure Takao has had the chance to process his less than thought out decision. 

“Is that what you want?”

Kise expects the question; Takao is one of few who ever bothers to ask him about his decisions, one of few who genuinely cares if Kise is content with the end result, if his choices make him happy instead of just something he goes along with for the sake of other people’s agendas. But even with the expectation, Kise finds himself unable to answer without anxiety lancing through him again. 

“Yes.  _No_.” With a dramatic whine, his face plants into his hands and he peeks through splayed fingers before he squeaks a less than believable, “I mean, yeah... I guess so?”

Takao laughs, loud and boisterous, and the sound eases the monumental knot in his stomach just the slightest bit. “You’re not gonna win any Oscars with that performance, Ryou-chan!” he says, shaking his head. He takes a sip of his drink like he’s readying himself before he clears his throat and leans into his palm. The laughter lingers in his eyes, a trait Kise has always appreciated through all of the drama in their more serious conversations. “Are you trying to convince me or convince yourself? ‘Cause you’re not doing a very good job either way.”

Kise cracks a smile. “It’s all fun and games until Ryouta has to make the big decisions, huh?”

The laughter ceases as Takao’s expression turns serious. “Look, you know where I stand with the guy. I’m not exactly singing his praises, but it’s not for me to tell you what to do, you know? If he makes you happy, if you’re sure you wanna go down that road, you know I’d be behind you a hundred and ten percent; no ifs, ands, or buts about it. But honestly, I’m surprised you’d jump into this considering how hot and cold you guys are most of the time.”

“I know. God, I  _know_!” Kise says, cringing at how whiny he sounds and slumping in his seat. He braces his elbows against the tabletop, hands cradling his face as his bottom lip juts out in one of his signature pouts. He isn’t exactly sure why he gave Hatori the answer he did when he’s generally conflicted about the way their relationship is going, but hearing Takao voice the observation adds considerable weight on an already questionable decision. “I didn’t know what to say. I mean, I just wasn’t expecting him to come right out and drop a bomb in the middle of everything. And I was jet-lagged and lacking caffeine,” he adds as though any of those would be viable excuses.

“That’s a good one. I can picture the magazine interviews quoting that now,” Takao says with a snort. “ _’Tell me, Kise-san. What prompted you to finally put yourself out of the running for most eligible bachelor?’ ‘Oh, you know,_ jet lag _.’_  Can you imagine what they’d say about that?”

“So mean!” Kise picks off a piece of his cornbread and jokingly flicks it at Takao, who manages to deflect the halfhearted attack. “Maybe I need a break. Get away for a little while to think things over.”

“That’s a good idea,” Takao muses as he nibbles on a slice of cornbread. “Shin-chan got invited to this wedding in New York. One of his old middle school buddies or something. We’re supposed to fly out tomorrow; you could tag along if you want? When does filming start for the movie again?”

“In a few weeks, but I should probably get there earlier to prep. But I don’t know; it just seems like it’ll start another fight if I leave so soon after coming back.” Kise mulls over the idea and the longer he turns it over in his head, the better it sounds. Hatori would probably be against the idea, but he owes it to himself to get some clarity, to be absolutely sure if making it official is really what he wants. He owes it to Hatori, too, though he knows the last minute trip wouldn’t be taken with the same level of reasoning. “If I do go, you and Midorimacchi could stay with me instead of one of those stuffy hotels. They just finished the loft renovations, so there’s plenty of room.”

“That’d be sweet! Shin-chan’s always going on like ‘I did not become a doctor so I can live extravagantly, nanodayo’,” he says, doing a fantastic impression of the bespectacled surgeon. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate the invite, if only to save a couple grand on the hotel.” 

Kise laughs in agreement. Midorima’s quirks often lands on the other end of the spectrum from Takao, their polar opposite personalities making it difficult to see just how well they work together. But even with their differences, the amount of respect and affection between them would tank even the most zealous of skeptics. “Let me think about it and I’ll let you know tonight.”

“Okay,” Takao agrees, tilting his head toward the small crowd consisting of the restaurant’s wait staff. “Let’s get out of here. I know a place where you don’t have to worry about being stared at while you eat. Pretty amazing sushi, too.”

Kise snorts, Takao’s lack of subtlety not entirely unappreciated, and leaves some money to cover their drinks. “You read my mind.” 

* * *

 

Kise returns home late enough that Hatori is already fast asleep. He knows he should have tried to talk to him, should have laid out all of his cards with regard to the spontaneous proposal and how he feels about everything in general, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, Takao had suggested dinner after Midorima’s shift from the hospital ended, and the stint of karaoke afterward was only an excuse to put off the inevitable. 

Though he is tired, the earlier conversations with both Hatori and Takao lingers in his mind, and he slips out of bed as quietly as he can manage. He knows he shouldn’t tempt himself, but he finds himself in the walk-in closet anyway, cross-legged on the floor with a small, unmarked bag on his lap and his cell phone at his side. 

He stares at the bag for a while, tracing the worn wrinkles of the plastic before deciding to take out its contents. With a sigh, he picks up his phone and dials.

“I had a feeling you were gonna call,” comes Takao’s greeting from the other end of the line.

“I’m in,” Kise says, his thumb moving absentmindedly over the soft material of the black cashmere glove. “I’ll have Ayato-kun get me on the same flight tomorrow night.”

* * *

 

The movie Kise chose for his in-flight entertainment finishes long before he realizes, though he’s barely noticed much of anything since takeoff. Instead, he’s taken to staring out of his window, the inky sky looming out for miles and miles and covering everything in darkness. He tries to think of Hatori, tries to concentrate on the conversation they had before his departure, but it’s not a pair of slate gray eyes he sees each time he retreats into his own thoughts; he imagines, instead, the same piercing blue he hasn’t been able to get out of his head since Hatori popped the question. 

Halfway through the flight, Kise glances behind him when he hears a quiet, rustling sound and finds Takao groggily blinking awake. Midorima remains asleep in the Business Class pod next to Takao, his mouth open and glasses slightly askew. Kise downs the rest of the drink he’s been nursing for the last two hours before he murmurs, “Kazunaricchi?”

“Yeah?” Takao says, lifting his hands up in an attempt to squeeze in a subtle stretch without waking Midorima. 

Kise feels a familiar sting behind his lids as he offers a grateful smile. “I know I don’t say it enough, but thanks. Really. I’m glad I’ve got you in my corner.”

“Aw, don’t get all sentimental on me now. I’m still mostly asleep,” Takao teases before he settles back into his chair and matches Kise’s smile with a sleepy one of his own. “That’s what I’m here for, though. We’ll figure this out. Try and get some rest, Ryou-chan.”

“I will.” The reassurance gives Kise a flicker of encouragement as he bites back a yawn, closing his eyes with a mumbled, “I hope you’re right...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the transition into Kise's POV wasn't too confusing. LOL As always, thanks for reading! :D
> 
> -H


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aomine decides to take fate into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter inspired by Sam Smith's _[Make It To Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nX30Sgchc20)_.

* * *

 

  
_“Destiny is usually just around the corner. Like a thief, a hooker, or a lottery vendor: its three most common personifications. But what destiny does not do is home visits. You have to go for it.”_

-Carlos Ruiz Zafón

 

* * *

 

Aomine wakes the next morning with a heaviness that drags him down and anchors him in place. 

He had dreamt the night before; a long winded encounter featuring Perseus, Andromeda, and a cast of Greeks, though oddly enough, he vaguely remembers the Andromeda in his dream being less female and definitely blond. Mai is already up and about, the place on the bed next to him rumpled and empty. The scent of coffee floods his nostrils and he breathes it in, contemplating a cup of it but still too groggy to consider actually getting up. 

He lays there for a while, fixated on the popcorn design splattered all across the ceiling. He’s never really minded it, thought it gives the ceiling a certain quirk, but Mai hadn’t agreed. She’s used to wood panelings, crown molding, beams stretched across a high ceiling like some majestic cathedral. Aomine’s tastes have always been more simple, less materialistic. But it’s a small thing to get used to; he’s become pretty good at getting used to the small things these days.

His ringtone goes off and it’s then he looks over at the small bedside clock, surprised at how early it actually is. Grumbling, he reaches for the device and swipes the screen to answer without glancing at the caller ID. “Yeah?” he mumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“Holy shit, you actually picked up,” Kagami says with a chuckle. 

Aomine yawns and closes his eyes again. His arm shields his face to block the sunlight slanting through his drape-less windows. “The hell do you want?”

“Awesome way to talk to your best man, bro. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.” Kagami snorts. “Anyway, the tux shop called. They need us to come in for some last minute alterations.”

With a hoarse grunt, Aomine forces himself into sitting position and whips the duvet off in a haphazard pile on Mai’s side of the bed. “Again? I thought we were done with that shit,” he groans, trudging out into the living room. “If I get stuck with one more fucking pin, someone’s gonna get decked in the face.”

“Suck it up, aho. You’re the big shot who wanted the huge wedding. I thought I’d give you a heads up before you left for the station. The appointment’s at ten.”

“She’s the one that wanted the damn thing,” he mutters.

“What?” Kagami asks before something rustles against the mouthpiece. There’s muffled conversation in the background as Aomine shuffles into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. “Sorry, didn’t catch that last part. Kuroko’s asking if you wanna meet up for lunch after.”

“It’s nothing,” Aomine says, scowling. He plants a kiss on top of Mai’s head when he brushes by her, gesturing to his phone and mouthing ‘ _Kagami_ ’ when she questioningly raises a brow. “I’m good with lunch. See if Satsuki wants to come. Bring your ball, though. I wanna hit the courts by my place when we’re done.”

“Sure thing. Don’t be late to the fitting. The last time I had to wait for you, the lady doing my measurements kept trying to wrap the sizing tape over my ass. Kuroko was no help, either; he just kept trying not to laugh.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be there. You should’ve flexed for her to see if she would--”

“Don’t finish that fucking sentence,” Kagami warns and Aomine knows he’s more than likely a few shades of red darker from the errant comment. “See ya later, asshole.”

“Yeah, later.” Aomine ends the call with a quiet chuckle and turns to find Mai clutching the  _Times_ , her giddiness unmistakable. She lifts the newspaper to show him something, but he only stares back, still too tired to try and figure out what it is he’s supposed to be looking at.

“Our wedding’s on page six, Daiki-kun! I can’t believe it!” she squeaks, her smile so wide that Aomine wonders if the expression is as painful as it looks. “I don’t even remember submitting an announcement.”

“Great,” he mutters irritably under his breath, low enough for Mai to miss it. “Maybe someone from the agency did it. Your manager’s always trying to get you more publicity. Getting taken off the market would probably be a big deal.”

“ _Probably?!_  It’s a  _huge_  deal! Besides, it’s not my manager’s fault. Hamada-san encourages it, especially since he thinks I have a good shot at breaking into the film industry.”

“That reminds me,” Aomine says between sips of coffee, “did you hear back about that part you auditioned for?”

“Not yet, but it’s a small role, so I’ll probably find out right before they start filming.” 

Aomine grunts in response and downs the rest of his coffee before refilling the cup again with a drawn out sigh. Mai is still smiling from ear to ear when she turns to leave him to his waking routine. While he’s glad that she’s too preoccupied with her surprise over the public announcement, even the gratefulness he feels doesn’t help that his morning has already been marred, his mood negatively affected. 

By the time he’s ready to leave, Mai is putting the finishing touches on her makeup, puckering at him when he passes by to grab his cologne from the bathroom counter. The fine mist surrounds them for a brief second before it disperses and leaves behind a fresh, sporty scent that raises his spirits just a fraction. It always reminds him of when he bought his first bottle, back when he thought it was the cool thing to do. He had liked how it made him smell after he came back from pickup games stinking of sweat and basketball. The association stays with him, even now, and he’s comforted knowing it’s there to help him when he’s having a particularly shitty day. 

The thought of it, however, triggers another memory; another scent from another time, mingled with the smell of sweat after his impromptu game with the person that’s been in his head since the night before. 

“I wish you’d come with me,” Mai says, breaking Aomine out of his daze. “I feel like I have so much to do before the wedding that I’m going to end up with stress lines.” She uses a tissue to blot between her lips and turns to him with an expectant pout. “I know you don’t like participating in the wedding preparations, but I thought that once everything started coming together, you’d be more involved.”

Whatever momentary comfort Aomine finds from the resurfaced memory dissolves instantly. His brows pull together, scowling as he scratches his nape. “The ceremony wasn’t supposed to be this big in the first place. Family and friends, remember? That’s what we said when we started planning. Now you’ve got the press involved and probably invited half the city to the damn thing.”

“I know, Daiki-kun. But we’ve gone over this; it couldn’t be helped. Both my agent and my manager thought it would be a good opportunity for some free publicity to boost up my visibility. If it goes well, it can open a lot of new doors for my career and that would be good for the both of us. You wouldn’t even need to work anymore; I’d make enough for the both of us,” she says, tilting her head to the side. “Actually, maybe my agent can help you get one of those sports commentator positions instead of being just--”

Mai halts mid-sentence when she realizes she’s gone too far. 

Aomine bristles at the insinuation. “What? A police officer?”

Her gaze locks on his face, expression apprehensive and completely apologetic. “Daiki-kun, that’s not what I meant--”

“Of course not,” he says with a dry chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ve gotten what you ‘meant’ every time you bring it up.” He shrugs, deadpanning. “But see, the thing is, I like what I do. It matters. I’m not just some has-been biding my fucking time waiting for you to get stupid famous so I can live off you.”

“I never said that--”

“You didn’t have to.”

Mai sighs and takes a step toward him. He sees her hesitation, sees the way her fingers wring together as she opens her mouth to seemingly contradict him, but changes her mind at the last second. “I don’t want to fight, Daiki-kun. Please?”

Her expression tugs at the guilt he feels for lashing out and his anger ebbs away if only to prevent an argument he doesn’t have the energy for. “I gotta go,” he says, closing the remaining distance between them and planting a quick kiss on top of her head. “You’re better at all the planning shit anyway. I’m sure you’ll be fine, huh? I’ll see you later.”

* * *

 

The police station is as busy as it always is when Aomine arrives. He dodges out of the way when two beat cops walk by with a particularly verbal guy in handcuffs yelling obscenities between them. 

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Horikita himself,” one of them chides as he ducks to avoid the spit flying out of the offender’s mouth mid-tirade. “Come to clear out your desk?”

“Haha, that’s real funny, asshole,” Aomine retorts with a forced chuckle. While he knows the man is joking around, the insinuation rubs him the wrong way and only amplifies the lingering effects of his previous conversation with Mai. “I came in to get shit straightened out before I went on leave.”

“I still can’t believe you lucked out with her,” the other officer adds, grunting when the offender tries to yank his arm away. “I mean, no offense, but have you  _met_  you?”

“How ‘bout I tell your wife how you found out about Mai in the first place?” Aomine shoots back with a knowing smirk.

The second officer blanches as his partner laughs. “He’ll probably tell her he was looking through the magazines for the articles.” The cuffed offender ups the struggle and forces both officers to continue toward the interrogation rooms. “Congrats on getting married again. We’ll see you at the wedding,” he calls out before they disappear around the corner. 

“Yeah,” Aomine says even though they’re already gone.

He makes his way over to his desk, slumps down in his seat, and logs on to the computer. A nervous energy runs through him as he pulls up the database he’s looking for, not sure what he’ll find. He fishes the receipt he found the night before out of his pocket, fumbling with the scrap of paper in his attempt to enter the information. It would have been so much easier if the guy’s name had actually been on the receipt, but Aomine isn’t one to waste an opportunity and a credit card number that could be tied to his mystery fixation is just as good as a name. Especially when he has the means to put the information to use. 

“Come on,” he mutters, his eyes impatiently narrowing at the screen. 

When the search finishes, he navigates through the results, scrolling until he finds what he’s looking for. “Hell yeah! That’s what I’m talking about,” he murmurs under his breath, slamming a hand down on the desk in barely contained excitement. 

The Chief of Police pokes his head out his office, brows raised. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were here, Daiki. Everything all right?”

“Yeah, uh, everything’s fine. Sorry ‘bout that,” Aomine manages as he discreetly minimizes the database window.

“If you say so,” the man replies with an air of skepticism. “Stop by before you leave so we can go over your schedule.” And without another word, he disappears back into the glass box, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Aomine brings up the information again and jots it down, his hand somewhat shaky, and double checks everything before he shuffles into the Chief’s office. As he shuts the door behind him, he thinks, finally...

... _finally_ , something goes his way. 

* * *

 

“You look like someone spit in your coffee.”

“She might as well have,” Aomine grumbles as he takes his seat opposite of Kagami, who looks no better with Kuroko missing from their company. Momoi has yet to arrive, but he signals the server over anyway, intent on getting more caffeine into his system. 

“Rough morning?”

“You can say that again.” It takes all of Aomine’s self control not to bark his order at the slightly frightened girl that comes over, notepad in hand. He gestures for Kagami to tell her what he wants. Once the server is out of earshot, he sinks lower into his seat and drags a hand over his face. “I’m not even part of the prep team for the wedding thing and it’s fucking stressing me out.”

“You’re probably wired up from all that caffeine you’re drowning in.” Kagami stares at him, his brows furrowed together with noticeable concern. “At least you waited until we got out of the shop before complaining about it. You know how people talk.”

“Those idiots would probably sell the story to every tabloid,” Aomine says with a roll of his eyes, his comment cut short when the server appears with their drinks. He holds up a hand to stop her from leaving and eyes Kagami. “Should we wait for Satsuki?” 

Stocked full with nothing but coffee since he woke up that morning, the lack of actual food finally catches up with him, and not knowing when Momoi was coming makes his stomach grumble in protest. As though on cue, Aomine spots her edging around a cluster of patrons near the restaurant’s entrance. Her attire prompts him to raise a brow and as she approaches, he takes in the messy bun and pantsuit with an air of curiosity.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says, cheeks flushed from the chilly weather. 

Aomine glances at the server. “She’ll have the same as me,” he tells her before she nods and disappears back toward the kitchen. 

Momoi unwinds her scarf and shrugs off her jacket, nodding at the empty seat next to Kagami with a questioning rise of her brow. She plops down on Aomine’s right and steals a sip from his cup before propping her chin against her palm. “Where’s Tetsu-kun?”

“Something with work came up and he couldn’t make it,” Kagami explains with a faint flush of his cheeks. “New book coming out next month and all. He had some last minute editing to do and the thing couldn’t wait, so he said to go on without him even though I said I think it might be good if he came because Aomine didn’t sound too good on the phone this morning.”

Aomine and Momoi exchange glances. Kagami looks somewhat out of breath from the rambled explanation and while he’s usually candid with most things, there is something off with his tone, a nervous energy that flashes warning signs like a lighthouse beam. For a second, Aomine feels guilty for being so preoccupied with his own problems that he hadn’t realize it the first time Kagami explained Kuroko’s whereabouts. 

“Are you gonna tell us what’s up or are we playing twenty questions?” Aomine asks, polishing off what remains of his coffee in one final gulp. He signals the server for a refill before catching the embarrassing way Kagami’s face flares a shade brighter. 

“Kagamin, what’s wrong? I talked to Tetsu-kun this morning and everything seemed fine.” Momoi scores the edge of her teeth along her bottom lip and Aomine knows she’s replaying her earlier conversation, trying to figure out anything she could have missed. 

Kagami chuckles and waves away their concern. The sound is less jubilant than it normally is, but getting Kagami to talk about something is next to impossible if he doesn’t open up from the start. Momoi usually teases them both about it, saying they are more alike than they’d like to admit, even with their mutinous grumbled denials. 

“Nothing’s up. I just wish he didn’t have to work, that’s all. No big deal.” Kagami takes a sip of his own drink, some kind of healthy green sludge parading as a protein shake he’s been trying to get Aomine to try, and shrugs. “Anyway, what happened with Mai?”

“Great, pass the torch over to me,” Aomine says with a tinge of sarcasm. While getting it off his chest would probably make him feel better about his earlier argument with Mai, the thought of having to go through the whole thing exhausts him before he even starts. 

“You’re the one playing footsie with a block of ice here,” Kagami retorts. 

Aomine ignores the dig and tugs on a pink strand loose from Momoi’s knotted bun. “Why were you late anyway, Satsuki?”

“Quit it, Dai-chan! Honestly, you’re such a big kid sometimes,” Momoi huffs and tucks the stray hair behind her ear. “I do have a job, you know.”

“Your job doesn’t usually have you looking like a corporate henchman-- woman-- person, er, whatever,” Aomine says, giving up on getting the correct term as he motions to her clothes. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. You look fucking boss, but--”

“Ignore Senor Dumbass; you look bitchin’,” Kagami says with an appreciative nod. 

“I always do,” Momoi replies, smile sweet as saccharine. “Anyway, I got the call this morning. Apparently one of our potential clients is shooting a movie here and I was in the running to head up the project. If everything goes according to plan, I’ll be doing his PR work indefinitely.”

Aomine lets out a low whistle. “That’s a big deal.”

“I know, right? I had to give a presentation to show them how I was going to get his management team on board.” She pauses, her laughter somewhat embarrassed. “Okay, who am I kidding? It was all gratuitous self promotion.”

Aomine’s impressed. Momoi has been pulling longer hours at the public relations firm she works for and he knows how much she’s been killing herself trying to land a managerial position so she can lead her own team. “Yeah? How’d you do?”

“ _Killed it_ ,” she singsongs, eyes bright as Aomine and Kagami meet both her fist bumps halfway. 

“That’s awesome, Momoi! Seriously, if anyone deserves it, it’s you. You working with anyone famous?” Kagami asks, slurping the last dregs of his murky green drink before licking off the straw and launching it at Aomine.

Aomine deflects it easily and rolls his eyes. “Real mature, idiot.”

“I swear, it’s like I’m babysitting every time I go anywhere with you two,” Momoi says with a fond shake of her head. “You both would go at it all day if I wasn’t here to break it up.”

“True,” Aomine says with a low chuckle, “but your days would probably be less interesting without us.”

“Yep, what he said,” Kagami chimes in. “Now, tell us about your new gig before Ahomine commandeers the conversation.”

“Well, we’re basically booking all the promotional stuff for this new up-and-coming actor. He’s not that big in the film industry yet, but if this new movie he’s doing goes well, his acting career has definite potential.  _And_  he’s a model, which is a definite plus. I remember having to help with promos for some of the new industry faces and it’s considerably more work because we had to hand hold them through  _everything_.”

“So he’s a pretty boy,” Kagami says, wiggling his brows suggestively. 

“Kagamin!”

Aomine stills at Kagami’s errant comment as the conversation continues without him. The description triggers another image, a vague memory, blurred in his mind save for the glow of amber eyes he hasn’t been able to get out of his head no matter how hard he’s tried.

* * *

 

“You gonna tell me what’s up or what? You’ve looked like a kicked puppy since the tux shop and it’s kinda setting me on edge.” Kagami dribbles the ball a few feet in front of Aomine, hunched and knees bent in the offensive. Though he tries to keep his tone light, his question casual, there’s a strain in his voice that Aomine knows all too well. 

“I did what you said,” Aomine says, his eyes locked on the ball. His footwork automatically matches Kagami’s, the sync ingrained into the way he moves, memorized from years of playing one-on-ones. “I thought about it.”

“And?”

“I found the glove.”

Kagami gives him a blank stare. “Okay? Is that supposed to be a metaphor or something?”

“No, idiot. The night I met the guy, we were both going for a pair of these black gloves and I found it last night.”

“Still not following, bro.”

“It’s a fucking sign.”

“What is? The glove?” Kagami asks, clearly confused. “How the hell is that a sign?”

“’Cause I was thinking about all that shit you guys were saying and all of a sudden, I find the glove he threw at me,” Aomine says with a roll of his eyes. “How the hell is that  _not_  a sign?” He manages a steal and executes a flawless shot straight through the basket, too preoccupied to gloat. “Anyway, there’s more. The bag it was in still had the receipt.”

Aomine watches the realization sink in as Kagami’s eyes widen. He palms his face and mumbles into his hand, his head shaking. “Please tell me you didn’t use your job to dig up information on the guy.”

“You want me to lie?”

“Ahomine,” Kagami groans. He bends to pick up the ball and works it into a slow dribble. “What the hell? I meant ‘think about it’ like ‘get your head straight’, not ‘think about it’ like ‘break the law to find this guy’.”

“Never mind that,” Aomine says, pushing back the small amount of guilt he feels at taking advantage of his available resources. “I got an address.”

“So? What are you gonna do? Show up to the guy’s house and say ‘hey, sorry, I don’t know if you remember me from a million years ago, but you wanna grab coffee or something?’ He’d probably think you were a stalker.”

“I guess,” Aomine says, trying to keep his focus on their game rather than the possibility that he might actually get to see Pretty Boy again, “but, I don’t know, it just feels like something I need to do.”

“Not gonna lie; I still don’t get it. You’ve been fantasizing about Mai since you hit puberty and now you’re about to seal the deal. You know how many people would kill for that?”

Aomine’s brows pinch together in concentration. “Let me ask you something,” he says, pausing with a beat of hesitation before continuing, “you believe in fate?”

“Huh?” Kagami’s brow arches. “You feeling okay there, bro?”

Aomine scowls and Kagami takes advantage of his loss of focus to let the ball loose, the two-pointer swishing clean through. “Just listen to me for a sec, will ya?”

“Are  _you_  listening to yourself? I’m starting to think I don’t know you as well as I thought I did.” Kagami shakes his head. “First, you drop the bomb about some  _guy_  you were into and I didn’t even know you batted for that team. Now, you’re going on about this New Age crap like you’re suddenly having some deep, existential awakening or something.” He cards a hand through his hair in visible frustration. “This wasn’t exactly what I meant when I told you to think about it.”

“I get that. I get it makes me sound fucking insane. Maybe I am.”  Aomine drops to a crouch, his palms pressed against his forehead as he exhales. It’s hard enough to understand his own situation, never mind trying to explain it in a way that makes sense to anyone else. “But there’s something here.”

“This is nuts, even for you.”

“Is it?” Aomine asks, looking up at Kagami. “I go through every goddamn copy of  _The Catcher in the Rye_  I can get my hands on just to see if I’m gonna find a name and number scrawled inside. I see this guy’s stupid face  _everywhere_.”

“Maybe you’re thinking a little too much.”

Aomine stands and picks up the ball, forgetting for a second that it’s his turn on the offense as he passes to Kagami. “Maybe, but I don’t wanna go through the rest of my life wondering if I should’ve done something.”

“It’s the rest of your life I’m worried about. I don’t want you doing something stupid and end up regretting it.”

“It’s like I’m losing my fucking mind. The whole wedding thing, shit with Mai, this guy--” 

“That’s not all of it, though,” Kagami says and gives him a look. “Come on, spit it out.”

“She brought it up again,” Aomine mutters, bracing himself for the drive. His fingers tingle in anticipation and he reaches a hand out to steal the ball just as Kagami moves forward into a half-finished pivot to his right. He bolts toward the other side of the court, stopping abruptly  at the three point line to avoid Kagami’s block. Quick as lightning, he springs into a shot, the ball swishing cleanly through the hoop. “She always brings it up.”

“Shit.” Kagami doesn’t elaborate; he doesn’t need to. He’s been there through most of the ranting, usually during games of one-on-one until neither of them have enough energy to walk anymore, and Aomine knows Kagami sympathizes as best he can. “What’d you say?”

“Same thing I always say. Except I might have mentioned something about not being some washed-up has-been living off of her.”

Kagami groans. “You didn’t.”

“I did. And I’d fucking do it again every time she tries to rub it in my face. You know what the worst part is?” he asks as he barely manages to pass Kagami, executing a sloppy layup that almost doesn’t go in. The ball thuds dully against the blacktop before slowly rolling away from him. “She doesn’t get it; she thinks it’s just something I fell back on when I stopped playing pro ball.”

Kagami grabs the ball and works it into a slow dribble. “Did you tell her that?”

“Tried.” Aomine pauses. “Has Tetsu ever given you shit about your job? I mean, he’s got a pretty sweet gig with the books getting picked up for a t.v. series, right?” He straightens out of his defensive position, hands dropping at his sides and eyes locked on Kagami. “Was it ever this hard to agree on anything?”

“Sure. Everyone’s got their own problems, you know? He doesn’t like it much when I’m at the firehouse half the time, but it’s my job. He gets it, I think. But he never says much about it. Honestly, he never says much about anything these days.”

“You’re lucky.”

“Depends on how you define luck.”

“I guess,” Aomine says, bending his knees as he takes to guarding Kagami again. “C’mon, are we playing or what?”

* * *

 

The game goes on and ends with Aomine’s win. It follows with two more before they’re both at least mildly satisfied with the outcome, Kagami promising to kick his ass the next time they play. It never surprises Aomine just how easy it is to forget about things while he’s got a ball in his hand, adrenaline pumping in his veins, and muscles working in that way that only basketball has ever done. It gives him some semblance of clarity, grounds him to what’s true and real. 

As they walk back to his apartment, they pass by a used book store, one Aomine frequents enough that making a pit stop is an automatic action. “Hold up a sec,” he says before ducking inside.

Kagami groans a low, but audible, “You’ve gotta be kidding me; we just  _talked_  about this!” but follows along anyway, the bell above the shop’s door tinkling when it shuts behind him. 

Aomine doesn’t pause, doesn’t loiter; his feet carry him to where they know to go. The receipt burns a hole in his pocket, makes this particular stop more nerve-wracking as anticipation knots his gut. Sitting on the shelf in one of the old wooden bookcases is a newer copy of  _The Catcher in the Rye_. 

His fingers itch anxiously. 

Taking a deep breath, he pulls the book from its place and flips open the cover and... 

_...it’s empty._

There’s a distinct disappointment he feels, a hollowness that begins like dotted pinpricks in his chest and spiders out until he feels the beating muscle inside it clench painfully. “I was so  _sure_ ,” he mumbles. 

Kagami’s hand clamps on his shoulder and squeezes, the gesture somewhat comforting. 

“I know, man. Part of me thought it might have been there, too.” Kagami tries to steer him toward the exit, his head shaking as he breathes out a long exhale. “Come on, let’s go check out that address you found.”

“I thought you said I was being an idiot?”

“You are and this is completely batshit crazy. But,” he says with a shrug, “you’re also one of my best friends. Fuck if I’m gonna let you be an idiot by yourself.” He raises a fist and nods. “I’m in.”

Aomine stares at Kagami, surprised and a little dumbfounded. The fist bump he returns doesn’t even begin to cover the unexpected sense of gratitude that hits him. While he knows Kagami is still against the whole thing, having him there, in his corner, fires him up. “Yeah, okay,” he says once he’s managed to find his voice again. “Thanks, man. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Just don’t start crying or anything,” Kagami says, chuckling.

“Says the one who bawled watching The Hunger Games,” Aomine counters with a snort as he walks out of the shop. 

Kagami turns ten shades of red and mutters, “We don’t talk about that,” before following behind him. 

* * *

 

When the cab pulls up in front of Pretty Boy’s last known address, Aomine scrambles out and makes his way to the front door of the apartment. He’s a ball of nerves, every inch of him on edge. His fist pauses just shy of a knock and he looks to Kagami, who only nods encouragingly. 

Aomine exhales. “This is dumb. I should just--” and he knocks, hastily taking a step back while his stomach works itself into an anxious knot. When a minute passes and there’s still no answer, he stares at the door, lips pursed as he chews the inside of his cheek. 

“I don’t think anyone’s home,” Kagami says, walking back to the curb to hail another cab. 

Aomine is about to follow when the door opens and a voice growls, “What the hell do ya want?”

The sound is familiar, but not in the way Aomine expects. Slowly, he turns and comes face to face with someone he never thought he would see again. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.  _You_  live here?”

Haizaki Shougo, an old basketball rival from high school, leans against the door frame, mouth curving into a leering grin when he realizes who it is. “Well, ain’t this a bitch? It’s the has-been himself. Come to give me a personal invite to your fancy shindig? Aw, you shouldn’t have.”

“Shut up and let me think,” Aomine barks, turning away as disappointment leaves him grasping for an explanation. Confused, he looks at the post-it again and mumbles, “there’s gotta be a mistake. He’s supposed to be here.”

Haizaki swipes the address from him and squints at the piece of paper. “Who the fuck are you talking about? I’ve been here almost ten years.”

“No fucking way. I double checked the address.”

Kagami walks up next to Aomine and takes the post-it back, earning a menacing scowl from Haizaki. “You got a roommate?”

“I don’t know what kind of bullshit you assholes are trying to pull, but I got shit to do.” Haizaki makes to close the door, but Aomine slams a hand against it to forcibly keep it open. 

“Just answer the fucking question.”

When Haizaki realizes that Aomine isn’t budging, he releases the door and rolls his eyes. “I haven’t had a roommate in years. Last guy was this airhead model, but he wasn’t here for long.”

“Give me a name.”

“I don’t have to give you nothin’,” Haizaki sneers, moving to shut the door again, “now stop wasting my time.”

Aomine leverages his weight and bends his elbow, using the momentum to knock the door back. It hits Haizaki in the face and before he has the chance to react, Aomine has him pinned against the wall, his forearm braced against Haizaki’s neck. “Always gotta be the asshole. That’s fine; you can keep being a dick after we leave. Don’t give a shit either way. But you’re gonna give me a name or I swear, you’ll be eating your goddamn floor in a minute.”

Haizaki wheezes for breath, his face pinched as he struggles to get out of Aomine’s grip. His eyes dart toward Kagami and Aomine isn’t sure if being outnumbered is something the guy’s just now realizing, but he gives a derisive snort, throws his palms up in the air, and concedes. “All right, all right.  _Shit_ ,” he says, voice strained. “It’s Kise. The idiot’s name is Kise Ryouta.”

“How do I find him?” Aomine presses, keeping his arm in place just in case Haizaki gets any ideas.

“Wouldn’t be too hard,” Haizaki sputters, scoffing, “his face is probably plastered in every goddamn magazine you can find.” With an indignant glare, he clenches his jaw and meets Aomine’s eyes. “Figure it out yourself.”

Seeing he isn’t going to get anything else out of Haizaki, Aomine releases him and exits with Kagami at his heels. Haizaki calls out after them, “Hey, if you do talk to the idiot again, he’s a lying sack of shit! I never hit on him!”

* * *

 

“You didn’t have to deck the guy,” Kagami comments as they pore over a dozen magazines featuring articles and photo spreads of none other than Kise Ryouta. 

“I didn’t; I shoved his ass against the wall,” Aomine mutters absently, flipping the page to finish off an article about Kise’s latest success in some runway something or other. The article finishes with a profile photo that tauntingly stares at him, a challenge behind the amber eyes. “There’s a difference.”

Aomine’s brows pinch together as he drinks in every shot, every angle, his fingertips tracing the lines of ink in the photos where Kise’s various tattoos are visible. The vivid colors and dark shadows are a stark contrast to Kise’s pale skin, giving him an edge that hadn’t been there when Aomine had last seen him. The person on the page only somewhat resembles the Kise that Aomine remembers. He had been younger then, fresh-faced with that air about him that reminded Aomine of the old ads for Abercrombie & Fitch. But this Kise --  _this_  Kise is something else, darker, matured,  _sensual_ , and Aomine finds himself more intrigued the longer he stares at the pictures.

“How are you supposed to find this guy anyway? It’s not like his contact info’s gonna be published in any of this crap we’re wading through.”

“I don’t know; just keep looking,” he says without looking up. Something catches his eye then and he peers closer at the larger photo depicting the blond’s striking profile. The tattoo on Kise’s neck, a series of lines connected by dots and skillfully hidden under an overlay of blended shades of gray clouds, prompts Aomine’s heartbeat to quicken. He knows what it is, remembers pointing it out beneath a sky covered in the same overcast gray. 

_Perseus._

He ghosts a finger over the page, his whisper incredulous. “He got it inked on him?”

“There’s nothing here,” Kagami says as he tosses another magazine on top of the pile they’ve already looked through.

Suddenly, Aomine palms his face and groans. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.”

“Huh? Think of what?”

Instead of answering, Aomine fishes his phone out of his pocket and dials Momoi’s number. It rings three times before she picks up, her greeting slightly breathless. “Dai-chan, I’m at work. Can I call you back?”

“Real quick before you hang up,” he says, his gaze fixated on Kise’s picture. “You guys do a lot work for modeling agencies, right?”

Momoi sounds a little exasperated that Aomine decided to continue, but answers anyway. “Yeah, why?”

“I need a favor. That guy I told you about? The one from a few years back? I got a name. Now I need an address.”

“You got a name?” Momoi sounds surprised, though not as much as Aomine expects. He hears a faint rustle and some indistinguishable murmurs before she returns to the conversation. “Sorry, I just cleared my office. What do you mean you got a name?  _How?_ ”

Aomine recounts the incident with Haizaki, choosing to ignore the reprimand from Momoi about keeping his temper in check, and by the time he’s through, his heart is drumming in his chest so loudly that he’s sure she can hear it over the phone. “You gonna help me out or what?”

She’s silent for a moment and he knows she’s going through the same internal tug of war Kagami experienced earlier in the day. Finally, she asks, “What’s the name?”

“Kise Ryouta.” Again, he’s met with silence and this time he doesn’t know what to make of it. “Satsuki, you still there?”

“This has got to be one of the weirdest coincidences. You’re not going to believe this, but he’s the new client I was telling you about at lunch,” she says, her tone uncharacteristically hushed. 

Aomine’s anticipation jumps up a notch.“Are you shitting me?” 

“I kinda wish I was,” Momoi admits. She muffles her end of the line again and when she returns, her voice is apologetic. “I have another meeting to go to, but let me get his address and I’ll text it to you. You did  _not_  get this information from me. I don’t know what use it’ll be since it’s all the way across the country, but we can talk later after I’m done here.”

“Yeah,” Aomine says before he hangs up, an idea already brewing. A minute later, his phone beeps as Momoi’s text comes through with the address. He flips the phone to show Kagami, who only gapes at the screen, his brows furrowed. “You already know what I’m thinking.”

“I’m afraid to ask.” Kagami’s eyes flicker from the phone to Aomine’s face and back to the phone again. He groans. “We’re going to California, aren’t we?”

* * *

 

An hour later, they arrive at the airport and manage to get on a flight bound for Los Angeles. While Kagami is still somewhat reluctant to go along with it, there’s a certain energy about him that makes Aomine think that the resistance is more a show of conscience than actual disapproval. 

“You could’ve at least told Mai you were taking off,” Kagami says as he squeezes by a few of the passengers loitering in the aisle on their way to their seats.

“I will as soon as we land.”

“I seriously hope you’re not making the most monumental mistake of your life.”

“Yeah,” Aomine mumbles as he stares out the window, anticipation and adrenaline crackling like electricity under his skin, “me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :D
> 
> -H


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kise receives a wedding invite from an old friend and Takao discovers the real reason Kise decided to start his trip earlier than planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter inspired by Sonna Rele’s [_Strong_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qsGnKWAXhIo).
> 
>  
> 
> [ **Chapter art of Kise by dvl on Tumblr. ♥**](http://drawverylittle.tumblr.com/post/116007797691/inspired-by-limerence-fate-au-aokise-by)  
> [ **Chapter art of Aomine by dvl on Tumblr. ♥**](http://drawverylittle.tumblr.com/post/116134826271/inspired-by-limerence-fate-au-aokise-by)  
> [ **Chapter art by arriecchi on Tumblr. ♥** ](http://limitlessmonster.tumblr.com/post/116045153786/sometimes-what-youre-looking-for-is-right-under)

* * *

 

 

_“Sometimes when you lose your way, you find yourself.”_

-Mandy Hale

 

* * *

 

“Ah, shit!” Kise lurches to the side as he grasps the bathroom counter to keep from toppling over in the cramped space. The floor beneath him feels uneven, unstable, though he knows it’s more than likely the turbulence on the plane and the grogginess he feels from the short nap he’s woken from. “I hate flying,” he mutters as he wipes off the accidental line he’s made on his face. 

Again, he attempts to reline his eyes, steady hand sweeping just beneath his bottom lashes before tracing an expert line on the edges of his top lids. He stares at his reflection for a moment, sees the vague show of bags underneath his eyes, the slightly smudged remnants of his winged liner streaking down the sides of his face, and the sight makes him cringe. He remembers the dream he had before the low  _ding_  signaling the plane’s descent had roused him, remembers the way he tried to cling to it even though he knew it was no use. 

His gaze travels to his collar, swept up for a chicer, more urban look, but not high enough to completely cover the glimpse of the ink ingrained into his skin like a brand, a mark as permanent as the memory it derives from. He eyes it for a moment longer; a moment too long, it seems, as a dull sensation floods his chest before he can stop it. 

_Takao would understand_ , he thinks as he surveys his handiwork, sweeping the pad of his index finger underneath his eyes to get rid of any lingering smudges. Takao would support him, would root for him because that is what Takao does. But the guilt remains knowing Takao is unaware of the real reason he’s decided to tag along, even as he tries to talk himself out of it. He exhales slowly, gathers his things, slides open the bathroom door, and makes his way back toward his seat just in time for the seat belt indicator to come on. 

“What took you so long? I think the flight attendant was trying to sniff out where you went,” Takao comments with a backward glance at the restroom cabin. 

Kise snickers. “Maybe she recognized me and was trying to join the mile high club with famous model Kise Ryouta.”

“That’s highly unsanitary, Kise,” Midorima says, his expression disapproving. 

“That’s not what you said last time we flew, Shin-chan.” Takao’s grin is impish. His comment causes Midorima to flush a bright red that makes Kise bite back a snort. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, nanodayo,” Midorima quietly huffs, turning away with a scowl. “Please refrain from speaking.”

“Just ‘cause you said ‘please’,” Takao says and throws Kise a wink. 

Kise laughs, used to the banter now. The airline begins its descent and he spots the way Midorima’s hands suddenly grasp the armrests. “Still hate flying, huh, Midorimacchi?”

“I would prefer to avoid it,” Midorima says, swallowing thickly as he reluctantly releases a hand to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Before he can resume his previous hold, Takao intercepts his wrist, laces their fingers together, and squeezes. The action seems to calm the man some. 

Turning around in his seat, Kise takes a slow breath. Though the feeling lasts no more than a second, he is envious of how natural, how  _easy_  everything is between them. 

* * *

 

Rushing through the airport is something Kise is used to, but his general exhaustion and lack of security makes the task even more difficult. By the time he manages through the second wave of autographs and pictures with both Takao and Midorima in tow, he’s beginning to seriously regret the decision to fly in a few days ahead without Ayato and Kasamatsu to help handle the crowd. It’s a wonder they finally make it through and he silently thanks Ayato for ordering the car service beforehand, one step ahead of Kise like he always is. 

Kise’s preoccupation is worse than usual and he knows it. He’s been entirely distracted since before their flight and though he tries to make up for it by offering to treat Takao and Midorima to his favorite place for brunch, Takao’s concern doesn’t go unnoticed even with his cheerful disposition. It isn’t often that Takao’s patience is tested even at his worst, but Kise’s overall lack of response since they’ve touched down in New York shows that even the most understanding have their limits. 

“Earth to Ryou-chan,” Takao says, his eggs benedict nearly finished while Kise’s egg-white omelette lay untouched on his plate. He reaches over and swipes a piece, cringing when he forks the sample into his mouth. “Seriously, I don’t know how you eat that stuff. It tastes like rubber.”

“Huh? Oh, sorry,” Kise says, redirecting his attention back to the other two sitting across from him. “I must have spaced out.”

“How would you know what rubber tastes like?” Midorima chimes in, lifting a curious brow at Takao.

Takao chuckles and matches the raised brow with impish amusement. “You really want me to answer that, Shin-chan?”

Kise chokes on his coffee mid-gulp. “Aw,  _gross_! Kazunaricchi! I’m eating here!”

Midorima, who seems to be slow on the uptake, glances between the two of them, completely bewildered. He’s quiet while Takao shrugs and continues to snicker. Then, after a moment, the meaning finally dawns on him, turning his face a noticeable shade of pink. “T-That is not an appropriate topic of conversation, nanodayo,” he splutters, pushing up his glasses to hide his embarrassment. 

“You’re the one who asked,” Takao points out with a cheeky grin. “Aw, Shin-chan, loosen up. We’re on vacation!”

“Being on vacation doesn’t give you free reign to relay information about our sex life.” Midorima huffs and earns a laugh from Takao in response. “Besides, it is making Kise uncomfortable.”

“I have to agree with him this time,” Kise says, taking a bite of his omelette and grimacing. He forces a swallow and petulantly stares at Takao. “It  _does_  taste like rubber and now I’m never going to be able to eat another egg-white omelette without thinking about what you said.”

Takao polishes off his orange juice with lip-smacking flourish. “You’re welcome.”

“So, what are we doing today?” Kise pushes the plate away with a wrinkle of his nose, his rubbery omelette taunting him and his wallet. He feels a little guilty for spending so much money on something he’s barely touched, but after Takao’s comment, there’s no way he would be able to stomach it now. “I thought maybe we can stop by Haru-kun’s shop to get some ink done.”

“I was wondering when you were gonna bring that up,” Takao says as Midorima scoffs next to him. Kise knows all too well that while Midorima outwardly rolls his eyes at their ritual, Takao has admitted on a few occasions just how much Midorima actually approves; probably with more detail than Kise needs to know. “I’m so close to finishing the pre-release tweaks of that RPG I was working on, but I can get mine a little early since we’re here and all. I like Mako-chan’s work more than the place we usually go to in L.A. anyway.”

“Levi’s not so bad,” Kise muses.

Takao scoffs. “Right. The guy’s more of a clean-freak than anyone I’ve ever met. I mean, I get the stuff’s supposed to be sanitized, but he takes it to a whole other level--”

“Your new piece has just fully healed,” Midorima says reproachfully, interrupting Takao’s tirade. He scowls, nodding toward the busboy who asks if he's finished before clearing the dishes from the table. “I’ll never understand the constant fascination.”

Kise shrugs. “To mark a milestone? Haven’t you ever wanted something as a token, a reminder of something important that happened in your life?”

Midorima deadpans and holds up his left ring finger. Visible just beneath the platinum band is a dark ring of ink. “Once or twice, yes.”

“Oh, right,” Kise says with a laugh. “I almost forgot you had those done. It must be nice, being so sure of someone you’d get something permanent to commemorate that.” His hand moves to idly trace the tattoo beneath his collar. 

Kise watches Takao’s gaze lock on the absentminded gesture with renewed interest and he quickly drops the hand in hopes that Takao would get the hint. He’s hardly surprised; it’s the only piece Kise has ever gotten by himself, the only piece he hasn’t told anyone about, refusing to answer any questions about its inspiration no matter how much Takao or Hatori pressed for answers. Though they both had long given up the constant needling, Kise knows the questions are always on the tip of Takao’s tongue, ready just in case Kise is ever willing to finally share.

Instead Takao says, “You saying you don’t approve of the ink, Shin-chan?” He wiggles his brows, mouth pursed while he gives Midorima a look that makes him flush clear to the tips of his ears. The more Midorima resists his teasing banter, the more determined Takao is with trying to get a reaction. “Funny, I don’t usually get that impression when I come home with new work, but to be fair, I  _am_  always just a tad preoccupied.”

“You are insatiable, nanodayo.”

Takao smirks. He seems to have detected a rare opening and takes it, the kiss planted on Midorima’s mouth quick enough that the gesture gets by with little more than an indignant huff from Midorima. “Don’t act like you aren’t; especially when you ogle every new piece I come home with.”

Midorima deadpans. “Don’t be ridiculous. I do not--”

“Does that mean we’re going?” Kise interrupts, waving a hand in the air. “I can text Haru-kun to check if they can see us this early.”

Takao glances at Midorima, who says nothing and crosses his arms as he glares to the side. “Yep! Count me in.”

“Midorimacchi?”

“I’m going back to your apartment. I would rather not be persuaded to add to my limited collection.”

“Are you sure? You could get a piercing instead?”

“Yeah, Shin-chan! You should come! Maybe you can get something to match the frog tattoo you got last year,” Takao says with a snort.

“Remind me never to listen to you while I’m intoxicated, nanodayo.” He rises from his chair, Takao and Kise following suit as they make their way out to the Waldorf’s lobby. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’ll pass.”

Takao and Midorima walk ahead, too engrossed in their own conversation as Takao continues trying to convince Midorima to join them. They don’t notice Kise lag behind, his pace slower, footsteps dragging while he types out a text to confirm their appointments. 

“Kise-kun?!”

Kise turns toward the sound of his name, surprised to find Horikita Mai stepping off the main lobby elevator. “Horikita-chan!” He flashes one of his signature smiles, saunters over, and leans in to press a quick air kiss to both of her cheeks. “I didn’t know you were in New York. What are you doing here?”

She holds up her left hand, the unmistakable glimmer of a diamond shining from her ring finger. “I’m getting married!”

“Wow!” Kise says with an appreciative glance at the size of the rock and automatically gives her a congratulatory hug. “That’s great! I didn’t even know you’d gotten engaged.”

“It’s all just been a little crazy,” she admits, pretending to wipe sweat off her brows. He hears the strain in her voice, even with the palpable glow she has when she launches into some of the wedding details. He empathizes, a knot in his stomach forming with the thought that soon, he’ll be probably be in the same position.

The thought leaves him unsettled. 

“When’s the big day?” Kise asks.

“Tomorrow night,” she replies with a sense of relief. “Oh, you should come! The ceremony’s here. It starts at seven, and the receptions’s right after. I’m a little embarrassed that I hadn’t invited you sooner, but I’d lost track of who’s coming, really.” She grabs a pen from her bag and takes his hand, jotting her number down on his palm. “There should be signs near the ballrooms that tell you where to go. But please say you’ll come? I’d really love for you to be there. You can meet Daiki, have a few drinks; it’ll be fun.”

Kise grins and nods. “Of course! Horikita Mai finally taken off the market? Must be one hell of a guy. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

* * *

 

After numerous attempts at trying convince Midorima to come along, Kise and Takao finally resign to his stubborn refusals, promising to meet him for dinner later on in the evening. 

The tattoo shop smells faintly of disinfectant when they arrive. Nanase Haruka, or Haru to anyone who doesn’t have a death wish by using his full name, sits behind the counter of the reception desk, head bent over the sketchpad he is currently working on. He glances up and nods briefly at Kise and Takao when they enter before resuming his task. 

“Makoto’s in the back prepping the stations.” Haru swivels the pad around to show Kise its contents. “Is this what you had in mind? You weren’t very specific in your text,” he says with a quiet huff before he turns his face to the side.

Kise inches the sketchpad toward him to take a closer look. For every milestone in Kise’s life, there has always been something to mark the occasion; a tattoo with a depiction of something reminiscent of the event or a piercing when the mood hits him. His big break into a new stage in his career definitely warrants more ink and though he has a vague idea of what it is he wants, Haru seems to know how to pull the mental image from his admittedly vague description and bring it to life on the page. 

“This is just--” Kise begins, always surprised at how vivid Haru’s artwork is, how careful his details are with each piece he meticulously crafts. 

“--wow,” Takao says, finishing Kise’s sentence as he peeks around from behind him. 

Kise chuckles and hums in agreement, his eyes glued to the page. There are different variations of the film strip Kise had mentioned via text message, but the one that stands out, that most closely resembles the ambiguous picture in his head is the reel on the far right corner, placed within a sketch of his nape for a more realistic depiction. The film strip unwinds, ribboning out in half coils toward his right shoulder; from the angle and perspective, it looks like the strip is coiling out toward him, grainy shadows lifting the image as though it were floating. “It almost looks real, holy shit. The 3D effect is fantastic!”

“So you like it?” Haru prompts, as though Kise’s unmistakable excitement isn’t confirmation enough.  

“Like it? I love it! This is why I keep coming back to you, Haru-chan,” Kise teases, knowing full well what the coming response would be.

“Drop the  _-chan_ ,” Haru mumbles, his expression grave as he retrieves the pad of paper and motions for them to follow him into the back of the shop where the tattoo stations are located. 

“Good thing he’s got steady hands. I’d be half afraid he’d stab me with the tattoo needles,” Takao whispers with a quiet snort. “At least Mako-chan isn’t as hard to get along with.”

Haru pauses just as they turn the corner, narrowing his eyes with a deadpanned, “I heard that,” before he disappears from view.

Kise and Takao exchange looks and try to keep from laughing.

“Haru, be nice,” comes a voice from behind the curtain before it slides open. A friendly smile greets the both of them as Tachibana Makoto, co-owner of the shop and one of its four employees, waves them over, cleaning tools in hand. “We don’t get to see them enough as it is. You don’t want to scare them away, do you?”

“Like I care,” Haru says monotonously as he lays out the pots of ink for Kise’s new piece. He catches Makoto’s gaze and there’s a flicker behind his eyes that Kise catches, a fleeting speck that’s just enough to change the tide from whatever silent reprimand Makoto has given him. “Fine, I’m  _sorry_.” Then he adds as an afterthought, “I guess.”

“Don’t mind him; he’s still a little hurt that you had Levi do the  _Perseus_  ink,” Makoto confides, smiling fondly at Haru when the other gives a derisive  _hmph_  and goes back to preparing his tools. “You know how he is with his customers, even if Levi did used to work here.”

“But I’ve already apologized for that,” Kise says in a half-whine. “Besides, you were both on vacation, and I didn’t want anyone else here working on that particular piece.”

“You could’ve waited,” Haru says without sparing them a glance.

“Haru, come on,” Makoto says with a chuckle. He uses that tone Kise once described as soothing butter and the tense set of Haru’s shoulders instantly relax. “You’ve already forgiven him for it.”

“Whatever,” Haru says with a shrug, though Kise sees the hint of a smile as he’s waved over to take a seat so they can begin. 

* * *

 

A few hours later, Haru finishes wrapping Kise’s new tattoo while Takao is busy checking out Makoto’s handiwork in the full length mirror by the far wall. While he waits for Takao to finish, Kise takes to admiring the new artwork displayed on main wall where pictures of tattoos they’ve done paper the surface like a life-sized collage. 

At its center is a framed drawing Kise knows is Haru’s not only by style, but because the phoenix depicted is an exact replica of the one he has inked into his right shoulder blade. Its wings are at half mast, vivid colors of fire and gold with traces of ashen blue blending together as seamlessly as the creature’s attachment to the other half of the picture. A dragon with its reptilian grace slithers in a half circle opposite the phoenix, coy and taunting amid the furls of smoke and dots of embers that surround them. 

Kise’s fingertip traces the glass surface of the photograph with his phoenix proudly shown among the others Haru has finished. It’s one of his favorite pieces, one that signifies one of his biggest milestones thus far: his independence. 

“Haru-kun,” he says absently, his gaze moving from his picture to the one on the opposite side of the drawing. “I thought the phoenix was a standalone.”

“I told you to drop the _-kun_ ,” Haru tuts impatiently.

“No,” Kise corrects, “you said to drop the  _-chan_.”

Haru sniffs. “Same thing.”

Kise laughs. Haru has always been particular about his name. “When did you add the dragon?”

“A month after I did yours. The artwork wasn’t finished when you asked for it.”

“So you gave it away? This would have been really cool to have on my other shoulder blade.”

“I can still do it,” Haru says, adding, “if you want.”

“But this guy,” Kise says, pensively brushing his fingers along the picture of the dragon set against darker skin, “already has it. It’d be weird to have someone else’s tattoo on me.”

“He said the same thing when I showed him the original artwork. So he just got the dragon instead.”

Kise makes a sound that borders annoyance. “But why? That makes no sense if he knows it’s the other half of a finished tattoo.”

“Beats me,” Haru mumbles. “He said it had to be  _that_  dragon. Makoto even offered to draw him an entirely new piece and he refused.” Haru scoffs, adding a solemn, “stupid.”

Kise hesitates, the question on the tip of his tongue. His interest regarding the owner of the other tattoo is at a peak and despite the small voice in his head warning him to stop, his curiosity wins out. “Do you remember what his name was?”

“Aomine something.”

Haru’s answer gives Kise pause and causes him to exhale sharply before Takao’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “You ready to go, Ryou-chan? I just got a text from one of my work buddies; he managed to score some last minute Knicks tickets for me and we gotta go pick ‘em up at Will Call.”

“Knicks tickets?” Kise echoes slowly, like the concept is foreign on his tongue. He blinks and flushes, realizing just how much of an idiot he must sound. “Oh, right, yeah. Sounds good, Kazunaricchi!” Turning to Haru, he asks, “how much do I owe you?”

Haru finishes their paperwork and after giving them their totals, pins Kise with one of those looks he usually reserves for Makoto: silent, thoughtful, curious and knowing all at the same time. It renders Kise speechless for a moment, but the effect is fleeting. Haru shuffles back to his station without so much as a goodbye, apologies from Makoto paving their way out as Kise and Takao leave the shop.

* * *

 

When they arrive at the stadium, the game is already in full swing, the crowd inside erupting in cheers at the first home basket of the night. Kise and Takao navigate toward their seats, more difficult than they thought it would be with everyone standing and working up a frenzy as the Knicks manage a steal before the ball can make it to half-court. 

“Looks like it’s gonna be a good game tonight,” Takao muses as another basket goes in, causing the people around them to stand, buzzing with excitement.

Kise whistles and claps along with everyone else, nodding in agreement. “Good, I need the distraction.”

“Have you talked to Hatori at all?”

Kise strains his ears. “What?!”

“Hatori?!” Takao says a little louder.

“I haven’t.” Kise shakes his head. “I don’t wanna talk about Hatoricchi right now. Let’s just watch the game, okay?”

Takao reluctantly nods, seemingly aware that he isn’t going to get anywhere with the topic, and turns his attention back toward the court. 

* * *

 

“That was a pretty sweet game,” Takao says, walking out into the packed foyer alongside Kise, his fists still clenched with excitement. “I can’t believe they nailed that buzzer-beater! I thought for sure they were done, but I guess you can never tell when the teams are pretty evenly matched, right?”

Kise nods in agreement, his excitement only marginally less than Takao’s and more to do with the slight sting of his new ink each time his collar brushes against the padded cover. “I thought the guy was gonna miss that last one; his pivot was off. He barely made the release on time. Still, it was an awesome shot!”

As they near the exit, the row of glass casings catches Kise’s eye and he doesn’t realize he’s walked over until he’s right in front of them, staring at one of the enclosed jerseys. The name ‘Aomine’ is depicted on the back with the number five below it and Kise blinks, an image in his memory triggering. “That has to be a coincidence,” he mutters, shaking his head as he presses a palm on the cool glass. 

“What is?” Takao comes up behind him and peers at the jersey, his head cocking to the side while he surveys the rest of the cases. “Hey, these are jerseys from the old players.”

It takes Kise another second to respond, still preoccupied with the name on the jersey in front of him, but when he does, Takao is looking at him with more than a little curiosity. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Takao squints and Kise braces himself for the third degree. “I’ll tell you if you tell me why you’re looking at the jersey like that.”

“Like what? I was just ad--”

“Oh my god, it  _is_  you!” a voice says from behind them. 

Kise turns, stifling a groan, and flashes one of his skillfully adapted smiles at the girl now looking at him with one of those starry-eyed stares he’s gotten used to receiving. He schools his expression into one of gracious surprise; enough that it looks believable, but not too much that it comes off as completely fabricated. “The one and only,” he says with an amicable laugh.

The girl smiles so widely that Kise is afraid the expression would stick from the strain it makes on her face. He offers a hand for whatever item she’s sure to hand over for an autograph, his pastel blue sharpie already extracted from his pocket. He’s taken to carrying one around everywhere he goes; it makes it quicker for him to have it than wait for whoever wanted an autograph to find a pen. The habit usually has Takao biting back snickers as Kise obliges his fan base.

To Kise’s surprise, however, it’s not a piece of paper or the latest copy of his fanbook that she pulls out. Instead, she dips her finger into the low-cut collar of her shirt and tugs it down to reveal the white lace bra underneath. “Would you mind signing here?” she asks, her blue eyes glittering with excitement. 

Kise instantly feels uncomfortable and glances at Takao for direction. Takao only shrugs, his brows furrowed together and hands splayed helplessly at his sides. “I-- uh...”

“I saw you at the concession line before the game started and I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask for an autograph,” the girl chatters on, completely oblivious to Kise’s hesitation. “Minh is going to die when she hears about this! Your Vogue cover was spectacular, by the way.”

“Oh, thanks,” Kise manages, the tip of his tongue absently tracing his canine as he positions his hand so he can sign what she wants and get it over with. The task is much harder than he thinks and he’s half-embarrassed that putting his hand in a compromising position might alert people to the spectacle; making the front page of some cheesy tabloid groping a fan would definitely land him further up on Hatori’s shit list. “Uh, right on the front?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” she chirps happily. 

He takes a breath and is just about to get to it when he hears a commotion to his right. 

“Hey, asshole! Get your hands off her tits!”

“Uh, oh. I’m guessing that’s not Minh?” Takao muses before he attempts to drag Kise away. “Time to go, Ryou-chan.”

Kise is more than a little relieved and moves to follow Takao, but before he takes more than a few steps, a hand grabs the crook of his arm and slams him against the display cases. The pain is instantaneous when a large fist makes contact with the side of his jaw, white spots instantly lining his vision. His head whips back and hits the glass hard enough to crack it, causing him to groan from the impact.

“What the hell,” he murmurs, slightly disoriented. He shakes his head, readying himself for an inevitable fight, but his attacker is already on the floor with Takao on top of him, landing a swift punch to his face. 

"Kazunaricchi!” Kise springs forward and yanks Takao back just as he spots building security hurrying down the crowded hall, tasers at the ready. He groans again. “Great; this’ll probably go viral, if it hasn’t already.”

“Sorry, Ryou-chan.” Takao is breathing hard, red-faced and scowling, his fists clenched at his sides. “He took a swing at me when I pulled him off of you. I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

“Are you kidding me? Don’t apologize.” Kise places a hand on Takao’s back in an effort to calm him down, to assure him it isn’t his fault. He tries to smile, but flinches instead, the ache in his jaw flaring from the previous impact. “I would’ve done the same for you. Who was that guy anyway?”

Their attacker glares at them from a few yards away; he’s surrounded by a cluster of people, including the girl that had asked for the autograph, his breathing just as shallow and ragged as Takao’s had been only moments before. 

“If I had to guess, I’d say he’s the manfriend,” Takao says, shaking out his hand before stretching his fingers out and flexing them. And just like that, Takao is back to his old self, the altercation already forgotten. 

Kise, however, is still fired up from the unexpected confrontation, his hand coming up to tweak his jaw to assess the damage. “Hatoricchi’s going to have a field day with this if it gets out,” he says with a sigh. 

“Aw, I’m sure he’d understand.” Takao looks at him with an understanding Kise is fairly certain Hatori would not replicate. He scratches his nape and chuckles. “I really don’t know how you do it, putting up with the crazier fans.”

Kise’s gut knots with the thought of the shitstorm he’s going to have to deal with. “It’s not even the fans I’m worried about.”

One of the security guards make their way over, notepad in hand. “I’m going to need to take down your information before we escort you to the police station.”

Kise blinks. “Police station?” 

“We’re going to need your statements. You can also file a formal complaint there if you choose to,” the guard replies, jotting down the information Takao gives him. 

“That’s not necessary; we’re fine. Do we really need to make a trip to the station?” Kise asks, the incident making him more tired than he thought he’d be. Making a trip to the police station would take up considerably more time than he’s willing to give for a misunderstanding that’s gotten out of hand. 

“’fraid so,” comes the response as the guard directs them to where the others are standing, waiting for the police escort to arrive.

“Can this night get any worse?”

* * *

 

When they arrive at the police station, it seems just as chaotic as Kise anticipates, and amount of people milling around makes him groan internally. The last thing he wants is to be stuck there for hours while their incident is sorted out. 

“How long do you think the statements’ll take?” Takao asks. They’re sitting off to the side of the main space where rows of desks are converged in the middle, people on the their phones or tapping away on their computers without so much as a glance in their direction. 

“I don’t know,” Kise grumbles petulantly, arms crossed over his chest as he surveys the room, hoping to catch one of the officers walking by. “This wasn’t even our fault; I just want to get it over with.”

He fishes his phone out of his pocket, intent on getting texts out to Ayato and Kasamatsu. Pausing mid-message, he considers sending one out to Hatori as well, but rethinks the decision at the last second; Hatori would more than likely bring extra baggage than do anything that would actually help. A part of him feels guilty for excluding the man, but another part, the one that would rather make the situation go away than elevate it, pushes the guilt back as he finishes sending out the messages he does end up composing.

“How long is Aomine supposed to be out again?”

“I’m not sure. Gotta ask the Chief. I think it’s supposed to be a few weeks? I heard he was going out of town after the ceremony, so he probably won’t be back for a while.”

Kise’s ears perk up at the name and he turns, his gaze falling on a pair of officers coming from the corridor to his left.

“Lucky bastard. I could use a vacation.”

“You and me both. I still can’t believe he lucked out--”

Their conversation continues as they walk by, though Kise is no longer listening. He’s focused, instead, on the name that triggers another image in his head; piercing blue eyes that seem to haunt him more the harder he tries to forget. Automatically, his hand latches on the ink staining his neck, fingertips brushing across the memorized area of the constellation.

“You okay, Ryou-chan?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” he says, his smile falling short at the sight of Takao’s concern. “I’m just really tired and I don’t want to be stuck here all night.”

“You know, I wouldn’t normally question when you tell me something,” Takao begins as he leans forward, forearms braced against the bends of his knees. His hesitancy to approach the subject makes Kise feel odd, out of sorts; Takao has always been open and unabashed in their conversations, and it dawns on Kise that maybe the reason for the disconnect is entirely his fault.

“But?”

“I don’t know.” Takao shrugs, his attempt to be casual not entirely convincing. “You’ve been out of it a lot -- and I don’t just mean like how you are when you’re exhausted. I know that kind of tired; I’m used to it and you usually bounce back after you’ve had a few hours to yourself to recharge. But this,” he says, gesturing to Kise, “this, I don’t know about--”

Kise sighs. He knows he’s going to have to tell Takao sooner than later, but he’s not sure how Takao will react. It probably isn’t something he honestly can’t handle, but the prospect of somehow disappointing the one person who’s always been in his corner makes him clutch his chest. Kise glances at him, his lips pursing into the hint of a resigned smile as Takao continues with his frustrated monologue.

“--You aren’t paying attention to ninety percent of anything, you’re staring off into space half the time, and don’t even get me started on that ink you can’t stop touching.”

“You’re right,” Kise says when Takao stops to catch his breath. “I’m not just tired.”

Takao points to the tattoo of Perseus. “Does that have something to do with it?”

While Kise knows this conversation has been a long time coming, it still doesn’t settle his nerves. Takao is probably one of the most understanding people he’s known, one of the most open-minded, and even then, Kise has reservations about telling him exactly what had happened. 

He sucks in a deep breath. “Yeah,” he says, chancing a look at Takao. “I know you’ve been waiting for me to tell you about the tattoo, but I don’t know, it’s always seemed a little silly. I don’t even know what I’m holding on to half the time because he’s probably forgotten all about me.”

Takao’s eyebrows practically disappear into his fringe. “ _’He’_?”

Kise cringes at the tone and groans, his hand clamping over his face. “Now you see why I didn’t wanna tell you?”

“We’ve been friends for what? Eight, nine years? How the hell did I miss another guy in the picture? Wow, I suck as the best friend,” Takao muses, shaking his head in disbelief. “When did this happen?”

“Seven years ago. Nothing  _happened_ , really. And I was already with Hatoricchi then.”

“’Nothing happened’, my ass.” Takao scoffs. “You’ve been sitting on this for seven years.  _Something_  must have happened.”

“We played basketball,” Kise says with a shrug. His lips quirk into a small grin. “He was really good; it made me excited to play again. And he had this easy way about him; comfortable, you know? I actually had to stop myself from saying too much because I’ve never had anyone be that interested in me without knowing who Kise Ryouta, fashion model, is. He was interested in  _me_.” He sighs and cards his fingers through his hair. “Just  _me_. It was a nice change.”

“Are you saying Hatori isn’t? He seems pretty deep in the love department, if you ask me.” 

“Hatoricchi is different. He’s never known me apart from what I do. I mean, we met at a fundraiser gala for the agency, so I’ve always been ‘Kise Ryouta’ to him, even after we got together. I think he might be attached to that more than he is to me, actually.”

Kise sees a flicker of anger in the steel gray of Takao’s eyes. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like the guy.”

Just then, one of the officers calls out their names, beckoning them over when they direct their attention his way. 

“I guess we better get to those statements,” Kise says, nudging Takao before he pushes himself upright. 

“Oh, you’re not getting off that easy,” Takao shoots back with a laugh and a nudge of his own. “I wanna know about this mystery guy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you pumped up about anyone like this before and I gotta say, the glow looks good on you. Heh.”

Kise’s eyes widen, a flush rising in his face as they walk over to the waiting officer. “Kazunaricchi, you’re  _so_  embarrassing!”

Takao shrugs, throwing Kise a wink as he smirks. “Gotta earn back my b.f.f. card somehow, right?”

* * *

 

“He’s not really all that bad, you know.”

They’re walking out of the police station when Kise brings it up again. It had taken a good amount of reassurance to convince the officer that he and Takao are completely sure they don’t want to press charges, and they’re finally released with the promise that they wouldn’t hesitate to come back if they change their minds. 

“Who isn’t?” Takao asks absently as he tries to flag down a cab. 

“Hatoricchi.”

“I’m sure the guy’s got his good points,” Takao agrees, albeit reluctantly. “But that doesn’t mean he’s good for you. You deserve a little happy. And I haven’t seen you this affected about anything in a long time, even if this mystery guy’s some random moment in your life. It’s enough to make you question things, to give you doubt, right? I’d say that’s worth checking out.”

“Do you believe in fate, Kazunaricchi?”

Takao snorts. “Does Shin-chan worship Oha-Asa?”

“Touche,” Kise says, laughing as he tugs his jacket tighter. Light snow has begun to fall, white flakes floating in the air around them, weightless as feathers. It reminds him of that night with Aomine and he glances up, eyes automatically searching for the sparkle of Perseus against the darkness of the midnight sky.

“Why do you ask?” Takao follows Kise’s gaze, the taxi that pulls up in front of them momentarily forgotten. “What’s up there that’s got you all starry-eyed?”

“Perseus,” Kise answers with a smile, his hand moving to gently touch the tattoo Aomine inspired. “It’s Perseus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :D
> 
> -H


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aomine and Kagami discover information that makes Aomine second-guess the reason for his wild goose chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partially inspired by [_See You Again_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BltqG-OTE3Q) by Wiz Khalifa and Ed Sheeran’s cover of [_Stay with Me_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8SeCpv3bwQ4).
> 
> EDIT: I CAN'T BELIEVE SHE DID THE THING. WITH DIALOGUE. OHMYGOD. I am dead over this.   
> **[Chapter art by dvl on tumblr. ♥](http://drawverylittle.tumblr.com/post/116720269331/limerence-by-limitlessmonster-excerpt-whatever)**

 

* * *

_“Sometimes life has a cruel sense of humor, giving you the thing you always wanted at the worst time possible.”_  
  
-Lisa Kleypas

 

* * *

  

“Wake up, idiot. The plane’s about to land.”

Aomine grunts at the abrupt wake up call and pushes Kagami to the side in groggy irritation. It dawns on him in his semi-delirium that his lack of proper sleep is catching up with him and while his nap on the plane is probably the longest he’s slept in days, it still leaves him bogged down and more than a little anxious. “How long was I out?”

“About four and a half hours,” Kagami says and shifts his seat upright. He glances at Aomine sidelong. “You ready?”

Aomine sucks in a breath, closes his eyes, and leans back as he slowly exhales. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

* * *

 

When they arrive at the address, Kagami lets out a low whistle. The span of the property is impressive. Wrought iron gates surround the house, its manicured lawns well-kept and littered with an assortment of statues framing a massive stone fountain at its center. A roundabout driveway stretches around the greenery and at that moment, Aomine is slightly amused that despite their circumstances, he thinks all the unnecessary clutter would be something Mai would approve of. As they stand in front of the gate, Aomine stares at the obstacle, his brows furrowed. 

“How the hell are we supposed to get inside?”

“Huh? I thought you had a plan?”

“I wasn’t expecting Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous,” Aomine retorts before he spots a portion of the fence that looks as though it might be easier to scale. “Give me a boost.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me. I’m not helping you break into the guy’s house!”

"Come on, it'll be ea--"

“Hello, can I help you?” a crackling voice interrupts them from the small intercom to the left of the gate. 

They freeze and slowly turn toward the black box. Aomine clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, we’re here to see Ki-- I mean, is Kise home?”

“How did you get this address?” the voice says, its tone clipped. “Kise doesn’t entertain fans at home; you can see him at his next signing.”

“Hah? Oh, uh, we’re not fans, we’re--” Aomine looks to Kagami, his eyes wide and brows raised questioningly, only to get a helpless shrug in return. He wracks his brain for an excuse, frustrated that he’s come this far without thinking of a viable story beforehand. Then the idea hits him and he hopes that Momoi won’t be too angry when she finds out. “--from his new PR company. I was in town for something and Momoi Satsuki asked me to see if the contract they sent over was good to go.”

“Contract? I didn’t know they made house calls.” There’s a pause, the static crackling again before an audible click sounds and the gate begins moving. “Come on in.”

Relief surges through him and Kagami stifles a snort as they make their way toward the main entrance of the house. 

Kagami nudges him and whispers, “how did you know they sent over the contract?”

“I didn’t,” Aomine mumbles with a shrug, “but it worked, didn’t it?”

The front door opens, the man that answers holding a thick, cord-sealed manila envelope. “I didn’t get a call from the agency, so I wasn’t aware Momoi-san was sending someone over. I’m sorry about earlier; paranoia, you understand. Kise’s fans get a little crazy sometimes. I’m Hatori Kyouya,” he says, handing over the paperwork and offering hand. “I’ve signed everything for him; if you have any questions, just have Momoi-san call my office.”

“Great, I’ll, uh, let her know,” Aomine says, absently shaking Hatori’s hand as he tries to peek around him. “Kise not here?”

Hatori’s expression shifts, his hand stiffening before he pulls it away. “He’s in New York, actually; prepping for the movie role he just landed,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “But I thought you would’ve known that.”

“Right,” Aomine says with a snap of his fingers, pretending to suddenly remember. “I did know that. Sorry, jet lag’s a bitch and my memory goes to shit when I’m tired.”

“Does he work at the agency as well?” Hatori asks, eyeing Kagami.

“Him? Nah, I’m in town on personal business. He’s just tagging along.” Aomine pauses. “Do you know when Kise’ll be back? I kinda wanted to meet him seeing as I’m on Satsuki’s team and all.”

“It won’t be for another few months. I’ll tell him to stop by the PR agency since he’s in the city anyway. He needs to brief Momoi-san for the wedding announcement.”

Hatori’s statement gives Aomine pause. He senses Kagami bristle next to him and instantly, his heart plummets. “Sorry, wedding announcement?”

“Oh,” Hatori says with a laugh, though something about it sounds forced, intentional. “I forgot we hadn’t told people yet. The engagement just happened, actually. There’s no date set yet, but we’ll make sure to give your office all the details once we’ve decided; most likely after filming wraps up.”

Aomine stares at him, dumbfounded. Of course Kise’s with someone. In all the excitement of the chase, he hadn’t stopped to think about what kind of a life Kise might actually have, a life he might have made with someone else. He shakes his head and chuckles at his own stupidity.

“Is something wrong?” Hatori matches his stare with one of his own, confused by Aomine’s unexpected response.

“No,” Aomine says, shaking his head as he motions back toward the gate. “We’d better get going. I’ll have Satsuki call you if she needs anything else.”

They wait for Hatori to close the door before they head out. Kagami elbows him when they're out of earshot. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“That’s a fucking understatement,” Aomine says, scowling as he pulls out his phone to book the next flight back to New York.

* * *

 

The airport is filled with passengers flitting every which way, rushed and without a care about anything but the flights they need to make, the lives they have to go back to. Aomine watches them with their overpriced luggage, their duty-free bags filled with souvenirs, the way they all seem to go about their business like they should, like they choose to. With everything that’s happened, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, he should do the same. 

“You couldn’t have known about this.”

Kagami’s words are meant to be comforting, meant to ease the monumental knot in his gut, the twisted ache lancing through his chest. But all they do is hollow him out from the inside; it is  _his_  fault,  _his_  choices that brought him this far. And he managed to drag one of his best friends down with him. 

“Funny how that works. ‘I could have’, ‘I should have’; all this ‘what if’ bullshit.” Aomine snorts and leans forward, shoulders hunched and forearms braced against the bends of his knees. The air in his lungs feel heavy, constricting, wanting to escape, but wanting to be kept in, to stifle him as punishment for believing in something so stupid. A part of him knows it was a long shot, a gamble, but another part, the one that ticks in his head and whispers in his ear tells him that it’s a shot he needed to take. He looks at Kagami. “What if I was supposed to go through all of this?”

Kagami’s brows come together and he opens his mouth to speak, but only manages a confused, “Huh?”

“Come on; think about it. What if all the stupid signs did what they were supposed to do?”

Kagami still looks bewildered and Aomine sees his struggle in trying to figure out what Aomine is thinking. “Which is what?”

“Lead me back to where I’m supposed to be?”

“I’ve gone through some dumb shit with you since this whole thing started, but even I know that’s a load of crap.”

Aomine shrugs. Like everything else in the wild goose chase he’s been through, trying to understand it himself is hard enough; explaining it to someone else is next to impossible. “Maybe I needed the wake up call, you know? Maybe fate is trying to tell me to grow a pair and marry the girl.”

Ever since before he can remember, Mai has been the one he’s fantasized about, the one he used to pore over magazine spread after magazine spread just to ogle what he thought had been the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

Until Kise.

“For a guy who went through all this fucking trouble, you sure do give up easy,” Kagami says with a shake of his head. “I hadn’t figured you for a goddamn quitter, that’s for sure. I thought you were better than that.”

Kagami’s disappointment hits Aomine in a way he hadn't expected and whatever resolve he has at keeping a level head instantly dissolves. “What the fuck do you want me to do?” he snaps, desperation building in the back of his throat. “He’s getting _married_. And I’m the idiot running around like a goddamn chicken with my head cut off looking for him. I should’ve known better.”

“I’m pretty sure you did know better and you went after him anyway.” Kagami pauses and clamps a hand on Aomine’s shoulder. “Don’t you think that means something? That all the signs and fate crap you’ve been seeing  _means something_? All of ‘em point to this guy and not one points to Mai. That’s a hell of a lot of coincidences.”

“Maybe the absence of a sign is a sign?”

Kagami drags a hand down his face with an exasperated sigh. “Goddammit, Ahomine. They should make drugs for this shit.” His shoulders match the slump Aomine’s have taken and for the first time since their spontaneous trip, Aomine sees just how haggard Kagami looks. “I wasn’t gonna tell you until after the wedding, but you’re being an idiot and I need you to listen.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Tell me what?”

“Kuroko was thinking of moving out.” There’s a beat of silence as Kagami’s gaze shifts to the side, a creeping flush coloring his cheeks a noticeable pink. 

“Hah?” For a moment, no one says anything. Of all the people Aomine has known, Kagami and Kuroko have had the longest relationship, the strongest bond. The idea that something that true, that ridiculously ‘made for t.v. movie’ sappy can end makes him question if anything can last, if anything is ever meant to. His knee-jerk reaction is to get angry, to give Kagami a good kick in the ass for being dumb enough to let it fall apart -- but one look at Kagami’s face and he falters. There’s a sadness there, a helplessness he understands more than anyone, more than even he is willing to admit to himself. Now it’s his turn to put a hand on Kagami’s shoulder, to give him that reassurance with something as small a gesture as squeezing his goddamn shoulder. And he hopes it’s enough. “What happened?”

“ _Nothing_  happened.” There’s a resignation in Kagami’s voice, a sense of defeat and underlying exhaustion that Aomine empathizes with. “I think that was the problem, you know? We just got stuck and we didn’t know how to get out of it.” Kagami sags with the weight of the admission before he manages a small grin. “I talked to him before we left.”

Aomine skims his hand over the top of his head and grimaces. “Shit, how’d that go?”

“Honestly? Really fucking well.  We’re good now, I think. Or at least, we’re trying to be.” He doesn’t look at Aomine, doesn’t look anywhere but straight ahead at nothing in particular, the same stupid grin still on his face. “And if you repeat this to anyone else, I’ll deny it, but it was mostly ‘cause of you.”

“You sure you’re not actually on something?”

With a chuckle, Kagami reaches behind him and smacks Aomine upside the head. “Dumbass.”

“Oi, what the hell? I had to ask,” Aomine says, wincing as he rubs the offended area. “I didn’t even know you guys were having problems. Guess that makes me a shitty friend, huh?”

“You had your own crap you had to deal with; it’s not like I said anything either. But all this stuff with Kise got me thinking about me and Kuroko. We used to have that ‘it’ factor; that sappy shit you used to make fun of us for.” Kagami’s smile weakens just a fraction. “I guess we got so busy with everything else, so used to it being the way it was that, after a while, we stopped trying to do anything about it.”

“What changed?”

“I don’t know,” Kagami says with a shrug. “But seeing you get worked up over some guy you met a million years ago made me realize what a shit I’ve been, what I’ve been missing. I’m not ready to let him go. If your lazy ass can fight for something like this with all that goddamn conviction, then so can I. And he’s worth it, you know?”

“I get that. But I don’t think it’s this for me.”

The intercom crackles as the flight attendant at the gate announces their boarding call, prompting Aomine and Kagami to stand and shuffle over to where the rest of the passengers are waiting. 

“You thought he was worth it and you can front all the bullshit you want, but I know that hasn’t changed. You had hope; that’s a hell of a lot more than most people have. I’m just saying that you wouldn’t have tried so hard if you were really where you wanted to be.”

Aomine says nothing as they’re ushered into the terminal connector. He tries to think about what’s coming, to put Kise behind him and get his head back in the game. But the knot in his stomach returns when the face that pops into his head at that very moment isn’t the fiancee he’s going back to, but Kise’s -- his laughter clear as a bell and fire-born eyes bright like the sun.

* * *

 

“Daiki-kun, wake up...”

Aomine had barely made it to his bed in the early morning before he collapsed next to Mai, sleep pulling him under instantly. Mai’s voice is hazy in his head, muddled and faint as he tries to come out of the semi-coma he’d been in, but it proves to be harder than he thinks.

“Mm... five more minutes.”

“That’s what you said five minutes ago,” Mai says, clearer this time. Her face hovers above his when he manages to open his eyes. 

He squints, his brows furrowing together as he bites back a retort. “Don’t gotta get up ‘til later,” he mutters hoarsely before shutting his lids again.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Mai straddles him, using what seems like all of her strength to pry his arm off of his face. “I don’t care what bachelor party hangover you’re nursing; I made you an appointment for a haircut and you’re going to be late.”

With a grunt, he shifts to his side and tugs the pillow back over his head. “’m hair’s fine.”

“I’m not having you look like a bum in any of the wedding pictures.” Mai huffs in audible frustration and again attempts to get both his arm and the added pillow off him without much luck. “Come on,..  _please_?” she asks, a low whine wrapping around the request. 

Aomine can practically see the exaggerated pout and he snorts, the sound muffled under his cushioned hiding space. Finally, he concedes, peeking out from beneath the pillow with a scowl. “Can I get five more minutes if I agree to the stupid haircut?”

Mai slides off of him and grins. “Deal.”

* * *

 

“Hey, sorry, Kai’s had an emergency,” the receptionist tells him when he walks into the high end salon on the upper east side. It’s a fancy looking place, a little pretentious for his taste, but he thinks,  _hey, a haircut’s a haircut_. 

He sits in one of the swiveling chairs, waiting on the girl who is supposed to "make him look presentable”, as Mai had put it. The reflection that stares at him from the floor to ceiling mirrors lining the walls of the salon is a little ragged; most likely from the lack of sleep and the anxiety he’s had to stomach in the last few days. Getting a haircut is the last thing on his mind, but Mai had insisted, had made the appointment anyway even when he had said he looked decent enough for the photo session scheduled for later in the day. 

“You feeling bold today?” asks an unfamiliar voice behind him. His chair swivels around and he comes face to face with a girl sporting long, blonde hair and a thousand-watt smile. 

Something about her triggers something in him, like a memory he can’t quite put his finger on, but seeded in the back of his mind like taunting bait. “Have we met before?”

She laughs, the sound clear like a bell. “I’m sure I’d remember meeting Aomine Daiki,” she says, looking at his reflection in the mirror as she combs her fingers through tufts of his hair. She purses her lips and squints. “I was thinking an undercut; what do you think? Personally, I think you'd rock it.”

He raises a lone brow, unable to shake the deja vu. “Are you sure? ‘Cause you look really fucking familiar.”

“A hundred percent,” she says, slipping the vinyl cloth over him and fastening the velcro straps, much to his chagrin. She reaches for one of the magazines on the credenza pushed up against the wall, laughing at herself when she nearly trips over the hair dryer cord, and casually flips through it until she finds what she’s looking for. Then she turns it over to show him. “How about this style? It’s not as high up as a normal undercut and we can tweak the top of your hair to fit the cut.”

Aomine slams back against his seat in surprise. “Ah, shit, sorry,” he mumbles, eyes glued to the page. He isn’t sure if fate is trying to test him, trying to break his resolve to forget about the wild goose chase he’d stupidly gone after, or if this, like all the others, is yet another sign. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” 

Kise’s face stares him down with one of those smirks he knows has got to be practiced, his tongue peeking out just enough to brush against the tip of his canine. Aomine scowls at the page like it offends him and jumps out of the chair. “Ow! Shit, shit, shit...” he mutters, grimacing when the girl’s fingers are forcibly untangled from his hair. He tugs at the straps of the tent she’d draped over him and yanks it off with enough force that he stumbles back, nearly tripping over the same cord she’d managed to avoid only moments earlier. “I, uh, actually changed my mind. The hair looks fine.”

“But if you’d just let me take a little off the top--”

“No, I’m good,” he says, righting himself as his eyes lock on the picture of Kise the girl is still holding. “I just-- I gotta go. Thanks anyway.”

And before she has the chance to protest again, he’s out the door, wanting to get away, to go anywhere as long as it’s far enough that he can put the memory of Kise behind him.

* * *

 

When he returns home, Mai is already dressed and busy flitting around the apartment, leather planner tucked underneath her arm. She stops when she sees him, eyes his hair with an air of scrutiny, and nods her approval. “I like it; not a huge change, but cleaner. Kai did a good job.”

With a look of confusion, Aomine opens his mouth to correct her, but changes his mind and says instead, “uh, thanks. You gettin’ ready at Satsuki’s?”

“Mhm, after I drop off a few things at the Waldorf. My assistant forgot to give them the music and the catering company called about a problem with the menu.” She sighs and pins him with an exasperated stare. “You really could have helped a little more, Daiki-kun. It’s like you’re not even here half the time.”

The slight tremble of her bottom lip doesn’t go unnoticed and Aomine palms his neck as he matches her gaze. “I told you I’m no good at this shit; that’s why I thought it’d be a small gig. Nothing to get crazy about. Just you and me and bunch of our idiot friends.”

“When are you going to let that go? Look, it’s already done and the wedding’s today, so I don’t see how grumbling about is helping any,” Mai snaps. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When they open, she walks over to the bookcase by the window and retrieves a small package. Her voice is strained, but forcibly calm as she hands it to him. “I almost forgot.” 

Aomine eyes the package before accepting it and taking a seat on the couch. “What is it?” he asks, thumbing the lip of the wrapper’s opening. 

“Traditional groom’s gift,” Mai answers with a small smile. She gestures to the package.

He lightly taps it against his temple, cringing when he realizes that, in his hurry, he’d left hers at Momoi’s the night he’d purchased it. “Right, I forgot yours at Satsuki’s by accident.”

“It’s okay,” she says, shaking her head. Her gaze flickers between his face and the unwrapped package, pensive and curious as he rips off the paper to reveal a copy of  _The Catcher in the Rye_. “You’re always looking through it every time we go into a bookstore, but I realized when I checked the shelves that you don’t even have a copy of it.”

Whatever it is he’s expecting, this is the last on his list. He brushes tentative fingers over the worn cover, the knot in his stomach tightening the longer he delays the inevitable. Closing his eyes, he sucks in a breath and holds it, half afraid of what he might find and half afraid that he’ll find nothing at all. He holds the book toward him and lifts the cover, slowly exhaling as he looks at the front page. His heart sinks.

 

_Kise Ryouta 556-0807_

 

It’s quiet for a few moments as Aomine stares at the letters and numbers in numb disbelief. 

Mai is the first to break the silence, hesitant and unsure. “Do you like it?”

His mouth manages a quirk upward and he nods, forcing himself to tear his gaze from the front page of the book long enough to answer. He swallows, but the lump in his throat threatens to choke him. “Yeah, it’s great,” he says with a weak chuckle. “It’s fucking perfect.”

“Okay, good,” she says and takes a step back, motioning toward the door. “I really do have to go, though. I’ll see you later?”

Aomine nods, his attention still focused on the book, but just as she’s about to leave, something in him snaps. It stifles whatever logic and reason he’s got left, makes him bold, makes him realize that maybe Kagami is right after all. He turns toward the door. “I can’t do this.”

Mai tenses, her hand wrapped around the doorknob. It takes a full minute before she says anything, the knob rattling as she releases her grip and curls her hand into a fist. When she speaks, her voice is so quiet that Aomine strains to hear her response. “What?”

He averts his eyes, but whatever new courage that’s risen in him steels his resolve, his conviction. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Daiki-kun--  _Daiki_ ,” she murmurs, brittle and thin like she’s fighting to keep herself together. He sees her look at him from his peripheral, her brows pulled together in confusion. A tear runs down her cheek and she hastily, angrily wipes it away. She seems to be fighting with herself, a silent argument that fuels Aomine’s guilt at his change of heart. She looks at him like she does when she’s trying to figure out what’s in his head and finally, he meets her gaze, dropping the mask he’s always worn so she can see clear through, no obstacle between them; vulnerable, open, and completely free. She seems to come to her own conclusion and again, she speaks, stronger this time. “There’s no changing your mind... is there?”

“No,” he says without hesitation, “there isn’t.”

She nods, the gesture more to herself than anything directed at him. Her mouth presses together as her gaze drifts to the side, her expression blanking. “I’m going to take a walk. I want you gone when I get back.” And without another word, she leaves him there in blanketed silence, the latch softly clicking as she shuts the door behind her.

* * *

 

An hour later, he knocks on Kagami’s door, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Kagami takes one look at him, brows drawing together with genuine concern, and steps back to let him through. 

“You look like shit,” Kagami quips, trying to lighten the mood, but honest just the same. “Please tell me all your clothes aren't stuffed into that bag.”

“Shut up,” Aomine says, his voice hollow as he slumps down on Kagami’s couch. He digs through the contents of the duffel bag and retrieves the book, tossing it at Kagami with a sigh. “Open it.”

Kagami catches it with ease and glances at the cover, his eyes widening. He follows Aomine’s instruction, thumbing to the first page. His jaw drops. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. How’d you get this?”

“Mai gave it to me,” Aomine says, deadpanned, “as a wedding gift.”

Kagami is about to say something when a knock interrupts him. Before he’s had the chance to greet whoever’s at the front door, Momoi barges in without preamble and swings her purse at Aomine’s shoulder. “You can’t just send me a text like that! First, you fly off to L.A. without saying anything. Now, this. Stupid Dai-chan!”

Aomine flinches and shrinks back, hands rising to shield himself just in case the purse decides to go for round two. “At least I texted you,” he grumbles, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. 

“Where’s Tetsu-kun?” she asks Kagami, shoving Aomine before she deposits herself on the couch next to him. 

“He went to get stuff from the corner store; said we probably need the alcohol. He’ll be back soon,” Kagami says, parking himself in one of the bean bags in front of the coffee table. “Did you show Momoi the book yet?”

Momoi huffs and crosses her arms. “What book?”

“ _That_  book,” Aomine says, motioning for Kagami to pass it to her. He sighs. “Mai’s wedding gift.”

Kagami obliges, handing the book over with a soft grunt, before splaying out on the bean bag again. Momoi’s eyes widen when she realizes what it is; she looks from Aomine to Kagami and back to Aomine again, and slowly pulls back the cover. 

At first, she says nothing and Aomine knows she’s working through the details in her head, analyzing everything like she always does. “Don’t look at me like that. I know you think I’m doing my ‘data thing’, but honestly, I’m just worried about you. You said he was engaged, right?”

Aomine palms the top of his head, bowing forward with a slow nod. 

“Where does that leave you?”

“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug. It’s the most honest thing he can think of, the only thing that fits. “Homeless, I guess?” He chuckles weakly, the quip an attempt at lightheartedness. 

Kagami launches a throw pillow at him and rolls his eyes. “Idiot. You know you can stay here as long as you need.”

“And when he gets tired of you eating all his food, you’re always welcome at my place,” Momoi adds, her smile genuine. 

Aomine sees the way they try to tone down the sympathetic gazes and finds it difficult not to appreciate the effort. The last thing he wants is a pity party; he’d like to think he’s stronger than that. “Even if nothing else comes out of this, I’m really fucking glad you guys are here.”

“Watch out, Momoi. He looks like he’s gonna cry. Should we break out the Kleenex?” Kagami jokes, dodging the throw pillow Aomine aims at his face. 

“Shut up, I’m not gonna cry, asshole.” He reaches across the magazines on the coffee table for the gaming controls and tosses one to Kagami. “But  _you_  will be when I kick your ass at Mario Kart.”

Kagami snorts. “Ha! Watch me knock your ass off of Rainbow Road,” he says, eyes gleaming in challenge. 

“Why do I always feel like I’m babysitting when I’m around you two?” Momoi laughs and scoots closer to Aomine, lifting his arm and leaning into his side before putting a comforting arm over his stomach. It reminds him of how she used to do the same thing when they were younger, before everything became complicated, painful, confusing. 

And he realizes as he looks at the both of them that everything, somehow, is going to be okay.

* * *

 

Aomine doesn’t know where his feet have taken him until he’s literally on the steps of the old gym he frequents. He exhales in light puffs of air, slightly visible in the cold, and he curses himself for throwing on a sweatshirt instead of a warmer jacket. He’s relieved, at least, that he thought enough to throw on a scarf before he left Kagami’s place. The gym is still open for business and for a brief moment, he considers going inside to shoot some hoops; basketball usually helps to clear his head, helps him work through anything his mind has on pause, even if his only opponent is himself. 

Taking one last look at the entrance, he sighs and shakes his head, instead opting to take a seat on the concrete steps that lead up to the double doors. His talk with Kagami, Momoi, and Kuruko had helped to ease some of the tension he feels, to re-balance the scale just enough that he feels less like drowning, less like a walking void trying to grasp blindly in the dark. The copious amounts of alcohol Kuroko had brought home probably helped, but mostly it was the company, the thought that if anything else, he isn’t alone; that he never was. 

While he knows ending it with Mai is the right thing, the decent thing to do, a part of him wonders if he should have started it at all; if it had been fair to make her hope, to invest in something with him when he’s been halfhearted from the beginning. Guilt rides him, the wave high and angry and threatening to fill the hollowness spreading like a gaping hole in his chest. 

“Would haves”, “should haves”, and “what ifs” flicker in his mind, swimming in his thoughts with nothing to anchor them. He should have been more insistent. He should have tried harder that night with Kise, should have gone with his gut instead of letting him drive away. But he should have done a lot of things. 

He fishes the black glove from his pocket and turns it over, brows furrowing in frustration, in all the “what ifs”. It’s a wave that beats against the rocky shore of the barrier he’s built to protect himself: his stronghold, his iron wall, all crumbling to the will of the water’s force, dragging him further out to sea. 

_I knew it then. I fucking knew it and I let you go anyway. I really am an idiot._

His fist clenches around the worn material, holds it tightly like a lifeline instead of the vice it’s become. He tilts his head up, faint strips of clouds lazily drifting across a star-studded sky, and instantly, he spots it.  _Perseus_ , the one constellation he’s memorized like a tattoo, shines brighter than the rest, inked into permanence; a reminder of what he’s lost.

_You were it._ A lump rises in his throat; constricting, suffocating.  _You were it for me._

Forearms crossing over his knees,  Aomine closes his eyes and buries his face in his arms, concentrating on the dull thud beating in his chest. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he first sat down, but soon enough, the lock of the entrance behind him clicks, signaling the gym’s closure. He lifts his head and stares at nothing in particular, tucking the glove back into his pocket before he braces himself to stand. Just as he’s about to push up, something catches his attention from his peripheral. It flies through the air, weaving through the flakes of white that have begun to fall, and lands in front of him. Confused, he squints at the object and picks it up, his eyes widening. He forgets how to breathe. 

Slowly, he turns in the direction it came from, the black glove clutched in his hand identical to the one he had safely tucked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed the cliffer. ;D The wait is almost over. . . . . trust me, it's even more nerve-wracking on this end. //w\\\\) haha As always, thanks for reading! Your excitement and awesome commentary have been legit driving forces to keep me on track with this project and I honestly couldn't be more happy with the reception it's gotten. You guys rock my socks! ♥
> 
> -H


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kise learns to let go of an anchor and looks to the skies instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter inspired by [_Come What May_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8nNud3a0vA) by The Scene Aesthetic and [_Me Without You_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KmI1lyzDApI) by Sam Tsui.
> 
> **[Chapter art by arriecchi on Tumblr. ♥](http://limitlessmonster.tumblr.com/post/117452726001/im-gonna-kiss-you-now-idiot-you-dont-tell) **   
>  **[Chapter art by kiseryuota on Tumblr. ♥](http://kiseryuota.tumblr.com/post/121057770150/did-u-also-know-im-aokise-trash-based-on) **

* * *

 

_“Fate is never fair. You are caught in a current much stronger than you are; struggle against it and you'll drown not just yourself but those who try to save you. Swim with it and you'll survive.”_

-Cassandra Clare

 

* * *

  

Tired seems to be a perpetual theme in Kise’s life. 

Takao had offered to stay with him when they returned to the loft, but Kise refused with the excuse that Midorima was probably looking for him. Reluctantly agreeing, Takao had left him to his own devices outside his apartment building, mulling over everything that had happened.

He is so exhausted when he finally retreats inside that he nearly trips into the elevator. His complete lack of coordination is only bested by his swift reflexes as he catches himself on the railing and manages to press the button his floor is on. 

Takao and Midorima are already in bed when he enters the apartment, murmured conversation slightly audible from behind their closed door when Kise passes by. He used to wonder what it was like to be them; to have that sense of comfort, of trust in someone so completely that it’s difficult not to be jealous, not to want that click, that connection he's always found lacking in his relationship with Hatori. 

He sets himself up on the couch, intent on distracting himself with a movie -- maybe one of those romantic comedies on Netflix he’s always eyeing but usually too busy to watch. Popcorn ready and movie poised to start, Kise makes himself comfortable, tugging the chenille blanket over him and pressing ‘play’. Fifteen minutes into it, he realizes he’s got no idea what is actually happening; thirty minutes in, his eyelids are dropping like dead weight. 

The barely touched popcorn sits on the coffee table and it’s the last thing Kise remembers before he succumbs to sleep, a pair of piercing blue eyes paving the way into his dreams.

* * *

 

Kise awakens at mid-afternoon the next day, the blanket wrapped tightly around him. A pillow rests beneath his head, no doubt Takao’s doing, and as he untangles himself from his makeshift cocoon, he spots a note tucked under the popcorn tub scribbled in Takao’s hasty scrawl.

 

_Ryou-chan,_

_You looked pretty beat, so I thought it’d be good to let you sleep in instead of dragging you out with us. We’re probably gonna go sight-see and grab some lunch after, but you’re free to join us if you’re up for it. Left some pastries on the kitchen counter and Naked Juice in the fridge. Coffeemaker’s also set; just turn it on and hit ‘brew’._

_-Kazu_

 

A smile twitches his mouth with a certain fondness, grateful that Takao still feels the need to take care of him when he sometimes has trouble doing it on his own. Reluctantly, he pushes off the blanket, gets to his feet, and shuffles into his bedroom to get ready. 

An hour later, Kise is propped against one of the high-backed bar stools surrounding the kitchen island, pastry in one hand and his phone in the other. While he’s still too far into his head to make for decent company, being out and about on his own is probably a better distraction method than wallowing in his apartment all day. He polishes off what remains of his coffee and is just about to call in for a massage appointment, when he hears the front door unlock. 

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you guys to come back so early!” he calls out. He’s about to get up when he turns his head to greet Takao and Midorima only to find Hatori standing there instead, his expression mingled with too many emotions for Kise to figure out. Confused, he frowns and drops the rest of his pastry. “What are you doing here?”

Hatori eases his duffel bag off his shoulder and takes a deep breath. “I’m only going to ask once and if you tell me it’s not true, I’ll believe you. But,” he says, his voice hoarse, driven, “are you cheating on me?”

Kise snorts. “Is that a serious question?”

“Is that you avoiding an answer?” Hatori asks, calmer than Kise is used to. He looks slightly disheveled, less put together than Kise has seen him, even in the privacy of their own home. The change unsettles him. 

“You flew across the country to ask me if I’m cheating on you? You sound just as crazy as some of my fans.”

Hatori’s jaw clenches, the muscles visibly working as his brows draw together. “You still haven’t answered the question.”

Kise stands so abruptly that his chair pushes back and squeaks loudly against the tile floor. “No, I’m not cheating on you,” he snaps, eyes rolling as he stalks past Hatori and makes his way into the living room. Plopping down on the couch, he pins Hatori with a testy glare. “What the hell kind of a question is that?”

“A valid one.” Hatori remains standing and returns Kise’s glare with one of his own. “You know, at first I thought it was really nice of the new PR agency to make house calls; it makes things easier for me when I can’t make it into their office. But see, the funny thing is, I called them and apparently they don’t.”

Kise blinks. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Are you going to sit there and tell me you haven’t had anyone over while I was out of town? Because that makes for a really big coincidence that someone came by yesterday looking for you,” Hatori says, scowling. “Imagine his surprise when I answered the door instead.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about; I haven’t had anyone over that you don’t know about.”

“ _Don’t fucking lie to me._ ”

There’s malice behind the words, venom that makes Kise’s hairs stand on end. While Hatori’s jealousy can get out of hand at times, it’s usually nothing Kise isn’t able to handle. He knows it’s difficult for Hatori to be around the constant attention he gets from not only his sometimes zealous fanbase, but the media as well, and he factors it in to how far he’s willing to temper Hatori’s possessiveness. But this outburst, this blatant accusation tests Kise’s patience, works his jaw into a painful grind. “Are you calling me a liar?” he asks evenly, slowly rising from his seat. 

“If it talks like a duck...”

The insinuation is a slap in the face and Kise reels back, wounded. As unhappy as he’s been the lately, not once has he ever considered cheating an option. Confused and more than a little pissed off, he clenches his fists and sucks in a breath before slowly exhaling, his gaze locked on Hatori. “ _Get out_.” 

“I’m not going anywhere until you admit it! I saw it on his face!” Hatori’s voice rises an octave, clawing and desperate. “That’s not just my goddamn imagination, Ryouta. Just fucking admit you’re cheating on me and then--”

“And then what? You’ll forgive and forget and we’ll pretend like this never happened?” Kise snorts again, sneering. “You know as well as I do that you’ll harp about this until my ears bleed. I’m not stupid enough to cheat on you when you’ve probably got people following me around as it is.”

“That’s not the point--”

Kise’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, you actually have people  _following_  me? I wasn’t serious, but really, gold star for your goddamn trust issues,” he snaps, ignoring the frustrated sting behind his lids. “Are you really so insecure that you’d stoop to that level? That’s a new low, even for you ” He scoffs. “Pathetic.”

The words hit Hatori like a physical blow and Kise watches with mild satisfaction as Hatori flinches from the impact. His fists clench and there’s a beat of silence before the dam breaks. 

“You wouldn’t know what that feels like, would you? Having to wonder if you’ll be replaced, if there’ll be someone better, if you’re good enough for someone who can have  _anyone_.” Hatori’s breathing is fragmented, the vein at his temple pulsing as his tirade continues. “If I love you as much as I do and I can make a goddamn mistake, how can I not be afraid that you’ll do the same when you don’t feel it half as much?”

Kise doesn’t hear it at first, doesn’t register the accidental confession, but when it sinks in, his stomach plummets. “What did you just say?”

Hatori staggers a step back, breaths still ragged and stricken gaze trained on Kise’s face when he realizes his slip. “I--”

Deadpanning, Kise takes a seat again. “Looks like you’re the one with some dirty laundry,  _Hatori_ ,” he says, ignoring the way Hatori’s expression falters with the change in address. He raises a brow and motions for him to continue. “You wanna talk about cheating? Go ahead. Talk. Who was he?”

“’She’,” Hatori corrects. “Does it matter who?”

_Of course it matters_ , Kise wanted to say.  _It matters because I loved you._  

But Kise can’t bring himself to voice it; it’s then he wonders if he ever did at all. “No,” he says instead, “I guess it doesn’t.”

* * *

 

“So, what now, Ryouta? What do you want?”

Hours later, Kise is raw, ragged, more exhausted than he’s ever felt. The betrayal is fresh, the wound it leaves aching but not shattering. He wonders why it is, wonders why he doesn’t feel as hurt as he should, as angry while Hatori explained himself. He wonders when it was he stopped giving a damn. 

Kise’s teeth score against the edge of his bottom lip as he tries to slow down the thoughts racing through his mind. Whatever he says, whatever he decides, the next words that leave him will determine the rest of his life. 

“I want to be happy. I deserve that.”

“I can still make you happy,” Hatori protests, but even he sounds like he has a hard time believing it himself. 

“No,” Kise says, his decision made, “you can’t.”

There is a weighted sensation in his chest, dull and aching and filled with a terrible emptiness. It mourns the end of a chapter, and though Kise is glad for it, it leaves him lost, vulnerable, grasping for purchase as his world keeps spinning. 

Hatori’s gaze doesn’t leave him, his pain and hopelessness brewing like stormy clouds behind the various shades of gray. Kise stretches out on the couch and before long, Hatori is hedged next to him, cheek resting on his chest. Their breathing finally syncs together in a way it never has during the course of their relationship and the realization that their separation is the reason makes Kise’s throat tighten.

“This is the end, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Kise murmurs, a quiet finality in the way the tension between them gradually ebbs away. “I guess it is.”

* * *

 

Hatori is gone when Kise wakes a few hours later. There’s a note on the coffee table penned in Hatori’s handwriting, neat and pristine, and Kise feels a pang of sadness at the sight of it. 

 

_I know we had our differences. They started a lot of fights and we said things that made them worse, that made us worse. I also know that a lot of it was because of me. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For everything. For hurting you, for being the one that made us not us anymore, for the mistakes I made. I hope you find what you’re looking for, what makes you happy. Because you’re right; you deserve that. More than anyone.  
_

_Take care, Ryouta._

_Kyouya_

 

He goes over the note a few times, lets the end sink in, tastes the freedom that comes with it. And it dawns on him that, despite the hollowness he feels, maybe, just maybe everything is going to be okay.

* * *

 

A short while later, Kise finds himself at the nearest convenience store browsing their alcohol selection before he chooses a bottle of his favorite. Tequila always makes him a lousy drunk, he was told; he remembers how Hatori used to reprimand him for taking too many shots, for having a little fun after a long work week. The memory hits a nerve and he snatches another bottle, fully intending to be as lousy a drunk as he could get before he passes out. He deserves that much, he thinks, and this time, there’s no one to tell him what an embarrassment he’s being. 

Taking his haul up to the counter, he sets the bottles down while he fishes his wallet out of his pocket. The clerk rings him up, their eyes lingering a few seconds longer than necessary. “You’re that guy in the magazine.”

“Yeah, I’m always ‘that guy in the magazine’,” Kise says a little bitterly. He hands over a few bills to pay for the alcohol and when he’s given the change, something catches his eye: a series of numbers in familiar handwriting. Yanking the money away, much to the clerk’s chagrin, he slowly turns the five dollar bill to read the messy scrawl:  

 

_Aomine Daiki. 655-0708_

 

For a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

* * *

 

It takes a number of phone calls and two frantically rushed cab rides before he finds himself in front of the Waldorf Astoria, the five dollar bill containing Aomine’s name and number clutched tightly in his hand. There’s a sense of giddiness he feels, an excitement that has his pulse beating so fast it makes him dizzy, restless. Pausing just enough to catch his breath, he braces himself, inhales slowly, and pushes through the revolving doors to get inside.

People seem to move slower than usual and while he’s normally more polite, more affable at getting through a crowd, his patience is at its limit as he rushes past them. He skids to a stop in front of the announcement sign, the hallway empty and ballroom door closed. Even as his heart hammers in his chest, adrenaline in his veins, he hesitates before entering. The letters on the sign glare at him, an accusation of sorts as he reads and rereads the names over and over. 

_Of course it’s Horikita-chan,_  he thinks, cursing both his horrible luck and his stupidity for leaving the tequila at the convenience store in his short-lived excitement. His fingers brush over the laminated surface, tracing each letter of Aomine’s name with a sort of pensive nostalgia that cuts; serrated, deep-rooted, and painful in a way that levels him.

_I did this. I did this to myself and now it’s too late._

It’s a sudden rush, the epiphany. The moment of clarity is blinding and turns his steps to lead, preventing him from bursting through the door like he wanted. He doesn’t know why he has the change of heart, why he’s realizing now of all times, that what he’s doing is selfish, is completely crazy in a way that reminds him of Hatori’s antics. For all he knows, Aomine has forgotten about him, has forgotten all about that night that remains in Kise’s memory like the inked reminder staining his skin. And if he did, Kise has no one to blame but himself .

It doesn’t help matters any that Mai is also an acquaintance, someone he’s respected for as long as he’s been in the industry, someone who hasn’t done anything to deserve what he had been thinking to do. 

His thoughts drift back to what he’d said to Hatori, that he wants to be happy, that he deserves it. He knows the weight of the words, the bearing they have, and knows that he couldn’t ever be truly happy if there’s a chance he’s ruined that for someone else.  _Aomine deserves it, too_ , he thinks,  _even if it’s not with me._  

He staggers back a step when it dawns on him that this is the first time he’s ever thought of someone else’s happiness before his own, the importance of it, the need to be a contributing factor in making sure it happens. Even at the cost of his own happy ending. 

_You were it._  His eyelids prickle, but he forces the heated sting back, resolute in being the kind of person he needs to be, the person he wants to be.  _You were it for me._

With a last sweep of his fingers across Aomine’s name, he reluctantly pulls back, turns on his heel, and makes his way out of the hotel without another glance.

* * *

 

Walking around in the middle of the night does something to a person’s clarity. The night is more alive, more vibrant in some ways, than the day. The air is crisper, more invigorating, filtering into Kise’s lungs and allowing him to breathe in ways that make it feel like the first time. 

His phone goes off, the shrill tone cutting into the hustle and bustle of a city that seemingly never sleeps. Fishing the device out, he answers without bothering to check the caller ID. “Yeah, hi.”

“Hey, Ryou-chan! Shin-chan and I were gonna get something to eat. I wasn’t sure if you were doing anything, but I saw the note on the coffee table. Thought I’d see if you wanted to come. You okay?” Takao’s concern is obvious, though Kise senses the way he tries to reign it in, to give Kise the time to process what had just happened; to reset. 

“I’m,” Kise starts then pauses, debating on how much he wants to tell Takao now instead of waiting for his thoughts to clear. He knows if he lies, Takao will grill him harder about it when he does open up; he could never really lie to him, anyway. He’s more intuitive than people give him credit for, especially when it comes to something or someone he cares about. “I guess I’m okay. Hatori and I had a long talk before he left, so the clean break helped. You guys go ahead, though.”

“Are you sure? We don’t mind waiting. We’re actually at the loft now. The wedding we were supposed to go to at the Waldorf got cancelled, so we have nothing else to do for the night.” Takao drops his tone with a quiet snicker. “I can even convince Shin-chan to hit the karaoke bars if you want. I think we can all use a little alcohol right now.”

“Oh, right. You had that wedding to go to.” Kise’s brows furrow and it’s then the pieces start coming together. “Where did you say it was again?”

“The thing was at the Waldorf Astoria, why?” Takao’s voice takes on a new level of curiosity that makes Kise’s palms sweat, his heart beat faster. 

“Midorimacchi’s friend, the one he used to play basketball with,” Kise says slowly, the hammering in his chest now loud enough that he’s half surprised Takao hasn’t mentioned hearing it. He licks his lips, the dryness in his throat making his next question more hoarse than he means it to sound. “His name wouldn’t be Aomine Daiki, would it?”

“Yeah, how did you--” Kise hears a sharp intake of air on the other line and Takao is quiet for a few seconds before he breathes, “Ah, shit. You’ve gotta be kidding me. That’s the tattoo guy, isn’t it?”

Kise doesn’t answer; he doesn’t need to. Takao hums on the other end of the line and Kise knows he’s trying to figure out what to say, to find something that would fit with the complete mindfuck everything has turned out to be. While blowing off some steam with Takao and Midorima seems like a good idea, seems like something that can take his mind off of everything, the introvert in him, the one that needs time to himself to gather his thoughts, shoots down the idea. 

“I think I’m gonna walk around for a little while longer,” he says, tugging his jacket closer as light snow begins to fall. He debates asking Takao about the incident at the Waldorf and his curiosity wins out. “You don’t-- you don’t know what happened, do you? With the wedding, I mean. Why’d they call it off?”

Takao laughs, though when he speaks, his tone is sympathetic. “The official story is that Horikita had called it off at the last minute. They didn’t give an actual reason.” There’s muffled conversation from the other end of the line before Takao continues. “Shin-chan says it’s actually Aomine who called things off. Apparently there was something about a book, but Shin-chan stopped paying attention. Seems legit, though. The information came straight from one of the bridesmaids. She used to manage their basketball team way back when. Momoi... something.”

“Momoi Satsuki?” Kise asks as he forces a swallow. 

“Yeah! How’d you know?”

Kise sucks in a breath, sharp and chilled, and remembers his earlier conversation with Hatori about their unexpected visitors. “She’s my new PR manager.”

* * *

 

After a half hour of trying to convince Takao that he’ll be okay on his own, Kise finds himself getting off the M line stop and turning down a familiar street. He hasn’t taken this route in years, doesn’t know how he even remembers it, but somehow, his feet had known exactly where to go. 

The indoor gym looms into view and Kise wonders if it’s too late to shoot some hoops. He doesn’t mind that he’s alone, doesn’t care that most of the people who could offer some sort of a challenge are probably long gone, but the pull of the idea prompts him to check if the gym is still open. 

As he nears, he spots a lone figure by the front steps, hunched and staring up at the midnight sky, holding something wrung tightly in his grasp. The flickering streetlamp directly in front of the building sheds enough light that the figure becomes more discernible, more familiar with each step Kise takes. He pauses when the man drops his gaze and buries his face into his arms.

Kise doesn’t know how long he stands there, watching, just waiting for him to move. The cold permeates through his jacket and causes a shiver. It’s then he sees the man finally lift his head, whatever item he’s holding stuffed back into this pocket. When he attempts to stand, his face turns just enough for Kise to catch a glimpse.

_Aomine._

Kise forgets to breathe.

It isn’t until he’s thrown the glove clear across the yards that separate them that he even realizes he’s taken the soft material out of his own pocket. Slowly, he takes a step and then another, closing the distance as Aomine turns toward him.

“Kise?”

For a long minute, neither one of them speaks, neither one moves. Everything suspends: the flakes of white around them, the flicker of the streetlamp, the breath still lodged in his throat, burning a trail of uncertainty. There’s a charge in the air, a magnetic current like the pull of the tide toward the shore.

Aomine is different, aged, matured in ways that Kise knows only too well. But the light is still there, the fire behind the sharp blue eyes that had captivated him from the start.

It’s Kise that takes the first leap until what remains dwindles down to inches. Tentatively, he reaches out a hand, lips curving into the first genuine smile he’s worn all day. He’s half afraid Aomine would reject the gesture, would give him back the glove and go, that he’d walk away like Kise had that very first night. But the other half of him has faith, has hope that everything he’s been through, everything that has led up to this moment has been to bring him to where he’s needed to be all along. 

It’s a few seconds before Aomine reciprocates; he’s hesitant, his grip flimsy and tentative, brows drawn together in the familiar way Kise remembers. The warmth of Aomine’s grasp lingers on his skin, shocks his system, electricity crackling like live wire. He holds his breath until he feels Aomine’s hand tighten around his, the grip firm, strong...  _sure_. 

“I'm sorry--” 

“I’m an idiot--”

They both pause, their quiet laughter sheepish and marginally awkward.

“I--” Kise tries to speak again, but Aomine cuts him off with a shake of his head. 

“Christ, I’ve thought about this fucking moment since that night; what I’d say, what I’d do if I ever saw you again.”

“And?”

“I suck at this stuff. I need to -- I don’t know --” Aomine cuts off, looking to the side in visible frustration.

“Hm. What don’t you suck at then?”

Turning his gaze back on Kise, Aomine shrugs. “Basketball?” he says with a chuckle, pausing as something seems to click in his head. “Hey, you wanna go somewhere?”

“Yeah, okay.” Kise smiles, remembering the first time Aomine had said the same exact thing. “Let’s go somewhere.”

* * *

 

“Five point game; I make a shot, I get to ask a question.” Aomine idly dribbles the basketball at his side, smirking as he issues the challenge.

Kise bends his knees, arms fanning out in a defensive stance. He narrows his eyes and scoffs. “Fine, but if I make a shot, you have to answer one of mine.”

“You won’t make a shot,” Aomine says with confidence. He picks up speed, drives past Kise before he has the chance to respond, and executes a flawless layup. The ball drops on the blacktop with a dull  _thud_. He picks it up and passes, the shit-eating grin he wears amping up Kise’s need to rise to the taunt. “First question.”

Kise catches it with ease, the dribble absentminded as he attempts to look for an opening. “Better make it good.”

“Why wouldn’t you give up your name?”

With a sigh, Kise tries for a fake and fails when Aomine knocks the ball out of his hand. “I was pretty well known,” he says with a shrug. “Honestly, I was surprised you didn’t know who I was, but I was kind of glad. People always act different because I’m famous. You didn’t; I wanted to keep it that way.”

Aomine nods and resumes his offensive position. “Fair enough,” he said, dialing back and letting the ball sail through the air from just beyond the half court line. “Why did you end up giving it to me anyway?”

“Hey! You can’t ask a question before you’ve made the shot! No way you’d make it from th--” Kise flinches when he hears the telltale  _swoosh_. “What the hell? Okay, okay, I couldn’t leave without at least giving you that. Besides, how were you supposed to know it was my name in the book if I didn’t tell you what it was?”

“Good point,” Aomine says, twirling the ball on his fingertip before he tosses it to Kise. “Why leave?”

Kise rolls his eyes. “I have the ball. You can’t ask questions if I--” Before he can finish, the ball is knocked out of his hands and Aomine pivots around him, releasing a reverse throw as he sails underneath the basket.

Aomine smirks. “You were saying?”

Heat creeps up Kise’s cheeks and he scowls, scooping up the basketball with an indignant glare. “I was  _distracted_ ,” he counters before muttering, “stupid smirk.”

“Still gotta answer the question.”

Kise debates his response before he shrugs ruefully. “I was with someone.”

“Was?” Aomine says, his shoes squeaking as he abruptly halts. Kise takes advantage of the opening and dribbles past him. He copies the reverse throw Aomine had executed and nearly misses when Aomine says, “Is it the same guy who answered the door at your place back in L.A.?”

“W-What?”

“Is that your first question?”

“No! I--” Kise scrambles to put his jumbled thoughts together. “Why were you at my house?”

“Waste of a question, if you ask me,” Aomine says with a snort, working the ball into a slow dribble before making the shot from where he stands. “Looking for you. Duh. Your turn to answer. Same guy?”

Kise sighs, slightly frustrated at having only made one point. “Yeah, same guy.”

The vague response fires Kise up and piques his curiosity enough to up his game. But apparently, Aomine isn’t done just yet. The power play for Aomine’s last remaining point lasts until they’re both breathing hard from the continued exertion, sweat trickling down the sides of their faces and dripping on the asphalt. Aomine fakes a left and Kise takes the bait, only to be left disappointed when the shot goes right through the net, missing the rim completely.

“Guess that means I won,” Aomine says, wiping his face with the collar of his shirt. He collapses mid-court with a loud groan, splayed out on the blacktop with his arm over his face. 

Kise sweeps the back of his hand across his forehead to catch the beading sweat before he, too, goes down for the count. He’s laying in the opposite direction Aomine is, his head inches away from Aomine’s face, and for a few minutes, they do nothing but stare at the stars dotting the sky.

Then Aomine speaks. “The tattoo on your neck -- was that for me?”

Again, Kise flushes. The reaction warms all the way to the tips of his ears and he attempts to convince himself it’s because he nearly died trying to beat Aomine at basketball. “Yeah... it was.”

Aomine hums in response. “How’d you know I was gonna be there? At the gym, I mean.”

“I didn’t,” he says, forgetting that Aomine has already used his last question and turning away as he mumbles, “I thought you were getting married.”

“Huh. You knew about that.” It comes out as a statement, Aomine’s response lacking any sort of surprise. It’s Kise that’s taken aback when Aomine says, “I know you wanna ask me, so go ahead and ask.”

“But I lost,” Kise says with a petulant pout, “I don’t get any more questions.”

“I’m giving you one. Only fair since you answered more of mine.”

Kise swallows and turns his head to face Aomine’s only to find Aomine is already looking at him, studying him, his brows drawn together again. “Why did you call it off?”

Aomine chuckles; low, quiet, pensive. He takes a moment to answer, but when he does, his voice is hoarse and Kise hears the sadness behind it. “’Cause of you. Stupid, right?”

Kise’s cheeks burn despite the drop in temperature. He shifts his gaze back toward the sky, locating  _Perseus_  among the blinking lights. “Mm,” he says with a faint smile, eyes closing, “Not stupid at all.”

Aomine is quiet save for the soft breaths Kise memorizes, the surprising admission sinking in and slowly working through whatever doubt still lingered. He hears a rustle next to him and when he opens his eyes, Aomine’s forearms are braced on either side of his head, face hovering above his. It’s an odd angle, one that reminds Kise of something he saw in one of the  _Spider-Man_  movies, and it doesn’t help the flutter in his stomach that the position gives him a nice, focused view of Aomine’s mouth. Subconsciously, he licks his own lips and wonders what it would be like to kiss him.

"You know what else I've been thinking about since that night?"

"What?"

As though reading his mind, Aomine cradles the sides of Kise’s face, the touch gentle, careful, treading. Kise stifles a gasp at the little pinpricks that tingle where Aomine’s fingers are, his eyes trailing from Aomine’s mouth to his eyes and back to his mouth again.

“I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Kise deadpans and rolls his eyes. “Idiot. You don’t tell someone you’re going to do it, you just d--” His eyes widen, the sudden warmth of Aomine’s lips taking him by surprise. The kiss is remarkably tender, languorous, exploratory -- like Aomine is committing every part of Kise’s mouth to memory. When Aomine pulls away, Kise’s head instinctively follows before he remembers himself and his position on the ground. He slowly blinks away the fog in his head and stares, speechless.

Aomine wears the smirk that Kise swears is going to drive him crazy. “Kinda like that?”

Squinting an eye, Kise pretends to debate the question before lifting his hand and cradling the back of Aomine’s head. “Like what? I think I missed that. You might want to try one or a few more times.”

Aomine snorts. "Whatever you say, Pretty Boy." With a low chuckle, he leans in to kiss him again, intent on making sure Kise never forgets.

_He is exactly where I’m supposed to be_.

And for Kise, it’s the one thing he’s never known he’s needed, but couldn’t be without again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the home stretch! :D One more chapter after this; more of an epilogue of sorts. Hope you guys enjoyed the AoKise (finally! haha) and thanks for reading! ♥
> 
> -H


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aomine and Kise both find there are things worth waiting for, even if fate decided to throw them a few bumps along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter inspired by Jackie Boyz' [_Honestly_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nDK0dOhVhg).

* * *

  
_“Some things are destined to be -- it just takes us a couple of tries_ _to get there.”_

-J.R. Ward

* * *

  

_**Two Years Later** _

 

“I look dumb.”

Aomine tugs on the cuff of his jacket and scowls at his reflection, less uncomfortable in the custom tuxedo than he’s willing to admit. To his credit, however, Kise had been right; Aomine looks transformed, even if it’s just for one night. 

“Wow.” The breathless reaction behind him is followed by an obnoxious wolf whistle that causes Aomine’s ears to burn. Kise’s wide eyes meet his in the mirror and Aomine turns, his own breath catching in his throat when he takes a long, appreciative look at Kise’s finished ensemble. 

“Wow, yourself,” Aomine says, laying on the drawl thick enough to hide the way his stomach flips at the sight of Kise casually leaning against the door frame, tousled hair making Aomine’s fingers itch to run through it. “I dunno if I can promise top notch security tonight if you’re gonna go out in public looking like that.”

“Hm,” Kise says with a purse of his lips. He pushes off the edge of the frame and idly runs his fingers through his hair, each strand falling right back into place. Aomine’s stomach lodges in his throat as Kise stops in front of him, head tilted to the side, and brushes a stray blue wisp of hair away. “Then it’s a good thing you’re going as my date and not my bodyguard, huh?”

“You know I hate it when you call me that.” Aomine’s scowl returns, but before it can fester, Kise’s hands cradle his face; gentle and firm all at once. 

“It’s a joke, babe.” Kise laughs and the kiss that follows makes Aomine wonder how exactly brain function is supposed to work. When they pull apart, winded and warm all over, Kise rests his forehead against Aomine’s and muses, “bet the guys at the station’ll have a field day with all the cool pictures you’re going to get with the celebrities.”

Aomine palms his face with a groan. “Don’t get me started. They’re already givin’ me shit with all the Cinderella jokes since Rin let it slip that I’m going to the thing with you.”

“Does that mean I’m your Prince Charming?” 

“You’re charming, all right,” Aomine shoots back, arms sliding around Kise’s tapered waist. “Charmed the pants right off of me.”

“And it only took me seven years.”

“I hear seven’s a lucky number.”

“Is it, now?”

“Got me you, didn’t it?” Aomine steals a kiss and chuckles. “I’d say that’s pretty lucky.”

Kise’s expression softens, pensive even with the light behind his eyes igniting. “Except I’m the lucky one,” he says, the nostalgic flame replaced by an impish spark. He reaches around and smacks Aomine’s behind. “Now finish getting ready before I change my mind and show you how lucky you really are.”

Aomine’s brow shoots up. “If you’re tryin’ to get me to go, this isn’t exactly helping your case, sunshine.”

“Aominecchi!”

“All right, all right,” Aomine concedes, arms raised in defeat as he takes a step back. But before Kise can walk away, he leans in one last time, lips a fraction away from Kise’s ear. “But you’re wrong, y’know. I’m the lucky one.”

And he pulls away to finish dressing, all smirks and nonchalance, leaving Kise red-faced as he disappears back into their shared bathroom.

* * *

 

Aomine isn’t sure what he expects when the door of the limousine opens to reveal the zealous crowd outside. He’s worked security for the awards shows in the past, but being on that side of the crazy is a far cry from where he is now. He almost opts to stay inside the vehicle as he watches Kise saunter forward on the red carpet, waving to the hoard of fans clamoring for his attention from every direction. But before he’s realized what’s happened, a hand reaches out, Kise’s smile as blinding as the camera flashes behind him.

“If you wanna get out of here, say the word and I’ll be right behind you. But I’ve got you now, okay?”

He nods, schools his expression into something he hopes doesn’t scream open disdain, and steps out of the vehicle. His fingers link with Kise’s as the waiting audience erupts into enthusiastic cheers. “I’m good. ‘sides, I gotta be there when you wipe the floor with them during your win, right?”

“I knew there was a reason why I kept you around.”

Aomine smirks. “’Cause I’m the hot one?”

“Damn right.” Kise tightens his hold on Aomine’s hand, smile brilliant as he turns back toward the crowd. “Tonight, you’re definitely the hot one. Now, come on. I need my arm candy to make me look spectacular.”

“Your ass in those Armani pants do that just fine without me.”

“Keep talking like that and you might get luckier before the night is over.”

* * *

 

Kise’s win over some hefty contenders has Aomine riding the adrenaline rush right along with him. Even the after-party, loud and packed and stifling, isn’t enough to ruin his high as he watches Kise work the crowd, all the while his eyes searching the sea of people for wherever Aomine might be. 

“There’s a familiar face I haven’t seen in a while,” a voice says behind him.

Aomine freezes just as the bartender hands over the double shot of tequila he’s asked for. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he mutters under his breath before he turns to finds Horikita Mai looking at him with unmistakable mirth. His eyes zero in on her very pregnant belly and he clears his throat to hide his surprise, managing a slightly awkward chuckle. “I knew I saw you in that flick somewhere, but I thought I was just imagining shit. Looks like you’ve been busy.”

“If you could see your face right now,” Mai says with a gleeful laugh. She runs a hand over the large bump in front of her, her face glowing with a sort of euphoria Aomine had never seen in their time together. Somehow, the sight of it makes their unexpected encounter a little less awkward. “Funny how things work out, right?”

“Understatement of the year. I take it you’ve been good since, you know...?” He trails off, uncertain about how to phrase things without bringing back anything that would ruin the good mood she’s obviously in.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around it, Daiki-kun. I’m okay. Really, I am.” Mai’s smile is genuine, unaffected. She gives her belly another rub and shakes her head. “I’ll be honest; it took me a while. I was so mad at you. I thought I’d never be able to forgive you, much less look at you, but a few things happened and I realized maybe you were right to call it off.”

This he doesn’t expect. “Huh?”

“Don’t look so surprised.”

“Does that,” Aomine asks with a subtle glance down, “have something to do with your whole forgiveness thing?”

Mai looks sheepish. “Partly, but I think it was more than that.” She shifts her weight and points to the stool next to him. “Mind if I sit?”

It dawns on him that he should have offered in the first place and scrambles to pull out the seat for her. “Yeah, ‘course. Sorry, I wasn’t thinkin’.”

“Thanks,” she says gratefully, breathing a sigh of relief when she manages to position herself onto the stool. “I’m not as light on my feet as I used to be. I do miss those five-inch heels, though.”

“Still stumps me how you managed to walk in those things. Looked like they hurt,” Aomine muses, more relaxed now that the imminent threat of a post-breakup blowout is no longer an issue. He takes a gulp of his drink. 

“Remember when I tried getting you to walk in them for five minutes? That’s still the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Hey! I lasted all five minutes!” he argues, taking the teasing jab in stride as he downs another gulp. Mai echoes the laughter and when it dies, they’re left in silence for a few minutes. Not uncomfortable, but something else, something familiar that gives Aomine a strange sense of comfort. 

Leaning against the counter, he turns his head to look at her. A knot in his chest pinches, latching on to whatever memories he still holds even after all their time apart. He’s had so many regrets, mistakes he’s made he can never take back, but whatever forces had brought them back together at this very moment must have had their reasons. Maybe, just maybe, he can find some semblance of redemption, some way he can forgive himself for what he’s done to her the same way she’s learned to forgive him. 

“You know I’m not...” He pauses, his frustration at never knowing exactly what to say making his irritation flare just the slightest bit. “I’m just... I mean...” 

“You don’t have to say it, Daiki-kun--”

“...I never meant to hurt you.”

Her expression softens. “I know.”

“I just--” He offers a weak smile. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I never got to say it; not really. But I am and I should’ve grown a pair and told you before.”

“You should’ve,” she agrees, her laughter clear as a bell. “But I knew. Even before I walked out of the apartment that day, I knew. I swear, you don’t give me enough credit sometimes.”

“Givin’ it to ya now. Better late than never, right?”

“Mm,” she says with a nod. Hopping off the stool, which looks considerably harder in her condition, she leans in and gives him a hug. Tight, unpretentious, freeing. It releases something in him, a weight he’s carried since he broke off their engagement, and when she pulls away, he feels lighter somehow. Burdenless. She kisses his cheek. “I’m sorry, too. There were two of us in that relationship and it wasn’t entirely your fault. I know that now and I’ve made peace with it. I’m glad you found someone to make you happy. I never thought I’d ever get the chance to say it to you, but you deserved that. Even if I wasn’t the one to give it to you.”

Aomine catches Kise’s eye from across the room, recognition dawning when he realizes who Kise is talking to. He cocks his head to the side questioningly, but Kise grins and waves off his silent concern. “I  _am_  happy,” he murmurs absently, mouth quirking a grin as he watches Kise disappear through the crowd again. He turns his attention back to Mai. “Hey, we’re doing an impromptu thing in a couple of weeks. Nothing big; just friends and family out on the beach, but it’d be cool if you could make it.”

“I heard about that! Congratulations, Daiki-kun! Of course we’ll be there,” Mai says, poking his side for old time’s sake. “You always did want a small wedding.”

Aomine palms his neck. “Yeah, well. You know me; never a fan of the huge crow-- wait, how’d you hear about it? We made sure nothing leaked to the press.”

“Kise-kun and I run in the same circles, remember? I have my ways.” Her eyes twinkle mischievously. Someone catches her attention in the crowd and she turns to him, apologetic. “Ah, I think Kyouya-kun’s ready to leave now. I’ll get the details from Kise-kun later in the week and maybe we can grab lunch before the big day, okay?”

The name she mentions gives Aomine pause. It sounds familiar, but he can’t place exactly where he’s heard it. “What did you say your husband’s name was again?”

“Funny you ask,” she says, more than a little amused. “You’ve actually met before. But I think Kise-kun might be more familiar with him.” She smooths her dress over and begins walking into the throng of people. Just as a new song begins bumping through the loud speaker, she throws him a wink and shouts over the drumming noise. “His name is Kyouya. Hatori Kyouya.” 

And then she’s gone the next minute, leaving Aomine to his own incredulous laughter as he throws back the rest of his drink. 

_Now if that ain’t fate, I don’t know what is._

* * *

 

“Guess it’s not just me that got hit with a blast from the past tonight, huh?”

Kise stifles a yawn and laughs out a sigh, positioning his upper half on Aomine’s lap with his chin resting against his forearms. “I almost ate the floor when I saw Hatori at the after-party. He looked really good, though. Happy.”

“That would’ve been priceless. Too bad someone hadn’t snapped a picture,” Aomine says with a quiet chuckle, absently running his fingers through Kise’s hair as the credits to the movie they finished roll up and disappear from the television’s screen. Admittedly, there had been a pang, a brief bout of jealousy at seeing Kise with Hatori again. Their history is something he could never compete with, an entire life before him that he could never understand. But when Kise had turned to look at him, those searching eyes marking him, making him their sole focus, any lingering doubt about Kise’s old ties had disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“Mooooh, so mean! I wouldn’t put it past you to keep a copy of it if someone  _had_  managed. You’re lucky I’m pretty happy about how tonight turned out to really be annoyed with you. Horikita-chan was actually  _glowing_  when I said bye to her before they left. Strange how things turned out, huh?”

After a few beats of silence, Aomine ventures, “Are  _you_?” 

“Am I what, Aominecchi?”

And though Aomine already knows the answer, he asks anyway. Just to hear it. To make sure. Not just for him, but for Kise, too. “Happy?”

Kise shifts on to his back and reaches up, fingers curling around Aomine’s nape and bringing him down. He lifts his head to meet him the rest of the way and Aomine breathes him in, his heartbeat picking up pace a fraction quicker. 

Kise smiles. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, nudging the tip of Aomine’s nose with his, “I really am.”

When Kise closes the space between them, the kiss achingly tender and soft and  _sure_ , Aomine understands exactly what Kise means without having to say anything at all.

* * *

 

Conversations mingle with the deafening music bumping from the BOSE speakers affixed to each corner of the tattoo shop. From bits and pieces Aomine manages to catch here and there, he concludes that many of the patrons lounging around the place are probably there to see the rumored spectacle about to take place than to actually get any work done. 

It seems Haruka, the shop’s owner, has gotten wind of this as well as he emerges from the back room, black latex gloves snapping on. His expression is as deadpanned as it always is, though there’s a hint of irritation sparking behind the usual calm. 

“We’re ready for you back here.” Haruka pauses, his eyes flickering toward the people lounging in the waiting area and the crowd steadily growing outside before he adds, “You should’ve worn a disguise.”

“I thought it was early enough that I didn’t need one, Haru-chan,” Kise says with a teasing laugh. 

“Drop the -chan,” Haruka chastises, scoffing before he turns back the way he came. 

Kise shakes his head, impish grin in place. He tugs Aomine up and threads their fingers together. A light flashes from somewhere to Aomine’s right and they both turn to find one of the supposed customers sheepishly staring with her phone still angled toward them.

Aomine snorts and dips his head enough to peer at the perpetrator from under his sunglasses. “Real subtle,” he mutters, half amused when the girl who snapped the photo nearly drops her phone in surprise.

“Be nice, Aominecchi,” Kise coaxes, dragging Aomine toward the hallway where Haruka has disappeared.

Aomine grumbles in response. He does note, however, that even though Kise remains friendly enough, he hasn’t given the spectators as much attention as Mai would have in the past. The observation is a small comfort and soon enough, the conversations fade, replaced by their subtle footsteps bouncing off the art-covered walls. They reach the back room where Haruka and the other artists did their work, Makoto’s familiar smile greeting them as soon as they enter. 

“Nagisa said there’s a pretty large crowd outside already,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for Aomine to take a seat in his station. “Good for business, I guess, huh?”

“It’s more trouble than it’s worth,” Haruka pipes up, directing a pointed look at Kise before ushering him over so he can begin. “They’re only here to take pictures of the drama queen.”

“Hey! I resent that! It was a comedy,  _not_  a drama, Haru-kun,” Kise corrects with a small pout. Haruka mumbles something about ‘dropping the -kun’ just as Kise settles into the cushioned chair next to him. He turns toward Aomine. “Are you sure about this, Aominecchi?”

Glancing at the small design matching the phoenix adorning Kise’s shoulder blade and wiggling his fingers to shake off the nerves he’s been trying to hide, Aomine slowly exhales and nods. “Never been more.” 

* * *

 

“Dai-chan! Are you still not ready?”

“Hold on a sec,” Aomine says distractedly, waving Momoi off as he turns up the volume on the television. The player on the screen loops around his opponent and lifts off at the free throw line, the dunk that follows explosive and reminding him of the old days when Kagami coined the term for that very same move. “Hell yeah! That’s how you do it!”

“Aominecchi, I couldn’t find the beer--” Kise halts mid-sentence as he slips through the curtained opening of the tent, eyes wide with a hint of guilt. He turns a sheepish grin at Momoi. “Ah, what are you doing here, Momoicchi?”

“I can’t believe you two,” Momoi groans, lightly palming her face. She shakes her head with a scoff. “You know the ceremony starts in twenty minutes, right? And I thought you weren’t supposed to see each other before then anyway?”

“I think that’s only if there’s a bride and groom,” Kise says, his eyes glued to the same screen Aomine is currently clutching with no less than an iron grip. He tears his gaze away long enough to throw Momoi a wink. “Unless you count Aominecchi as the bride.”

Aomine snorts. “No way. If anyone’s the ‘bride’, it’d be you, dumbass,” he says, the game’s ending whistle prompting him to turn back around, jaw slack. “Are you fucking kidding me? I missed the final shot? Goddammit!”

“It was a good one,” Kise quips, shying away when Aomine attempts to take a playful swipe at his hair. “That’s what you get for calling me the bride.”

Now that the game is over, the considerable drop in noise allows for the sound of upbeat music to filter into the tent from outside. Drops of conversation accompany it and Aomine turns to Momoi, a questioning brow raised. “Everybody where they’re supposed to be?”

“Mhm. Just waiting on the both of you,” she says, her eyes glistening as she breaks out in a fond smile. “Only you two bums would be watching a basketball game right before the wedding ceremony. Honestly, even Kagamin and Tetsu-kun weren’t as bad.”

“It was the finals!” Aomine protests, scrambling to get his shirt buttoned up. The material feels nice -- soft and gauzy and breathable; not exactly what he expects to wear on his wedding day. He glances at Kise, who’s wearing a different variation of the long-sleeved shirt, and wonders if they should have opted to at least wear shoes. “Your fly’s down.”

Kise drops his gaze and feels up the front of his slacks. “Mooooh, my fly’s fine, stupid! What are you doing looking there anyway?”

“What? I’m allowed to look at the goods,” Aomine teases, flashing the smirk he knows turns Kise to butter. As though on cue, Kise flushes crimson all the way to the tips of his ears; it’s a reaction that never gets old, one that Aomine prides himself on being the only person capable of bringing out of Kise. He chuckles and holds out a hand. “C’mere...”

“Okay, I’m going to join the others before I start to feel like the third wheel,” Momoi says, kissing them both on the cheek in turn. “Procession starts in ten minutes. Try not to be late to your own wedding and remember the tents are see through.”

Kise impishly grins. “Bye, Momoicchi...”

She playfully rolls her eyes and exits, the curtain swaying soundlessly after her. Aomine’s arm slips around Kise’s waist and he draws him in just as Kise turns his attention toward him. The fading sunlight filters in through the sheer material of the tent, the faint glow slanting across Kise’s face at all the right angles. His eyes catch a splinter of light, fire-born and molten like lava as Aomine drinks it all in, wonders how Kise can render him speechless and rooted to the spot with just one glance.

His lips quirk into a half-grin, brows creasing in mild amusement. “You ready for this?”

Kise lazily drapes an arm over Aomine’s shoulder and steals a kiss, his lips matching the upturned quirk when he pulls away. “You bet I am.”

* * *

 

"Do you have the rings?”

Aomine blinks, his hand patting his pockets in a slight panic. The ceremony goes faster than he anticipates, though Kise making subtle faces throughout its entirety doesn’t exactly help with his concentration. As distracted as he is, it isn’t until Momoi stealthily slips the rings into his hand does he remember that he’d given them to her for safe keeping. 

“Yep, right here,” he says, catching Kise’s eye and giving him a knowing wink. Kise, in turn, shakes his head and clears his throat to cover up the snort that escapes.

Kagami stifles a laugh. “I know it’s a last minute gig, but c’mon, Ahomine.”

“Shut up,” Aomine says, not without affection, and halfheartedly waves off the errant comment. “Just get on with it already.”

“Kagamicchi, I don’t think you’re supposed to be calling him names while you’re officiating,” Kise says, biting the edge of his lip to keep from joining in on the laughter. 

Kagami clears his throat and glances over at the horizon. “Shit, the sun’s going down. Uh, where were we? Oh, right. Rings. You guys have your vows?”

“Right here,” Kise says, tapping the side of his head.

Aomine nods as Kise takes his hand, intertwines their fingers and gives them a squeeze. The action is enough to clear his head, to rid him of the remaining nerves he’s trying to push back. There’s a hushed silence among the small group of people surrounding them, the rush of the afternoon tide pulling along the shore the only discernible sound save for his own breathing.

Kise quirks a grin and makes the first move. He releases Aomine’s hand long enough to secure the ring over the matching ink they had both gotten a few weeks before. “Good thing we waited until they healed, huh?” he starts, brushing his thumb across the titanium band. He laughs, quiet but clear as bell, and exhales slowly before he continues. “I'm a runner; it was usually away from people that should matter, things that I should’ve wanted, but never really clicked with like I clicked with you.” The grin returns, a pensive amusement behind it. “When it came to you, I did run. But it was toward you. It was always toward you. You were it for me.”

Aomine returns the gesture and slides the ring over the detailed tattoo wrapped around Kise’s finger. But instead of taking Kise’s hand, he leans in, rests their foreheads together, and closes his eyes. There’s a lot he can say, so much he wants to, but he’s never been good with words. Instead, he cradles Kise’s face in his hands, a tingling energy passing between them, and echoes, “You were it for me.”

“All right, now you know what comes next,” Kagami says with a laugh.

Kise turns to Kagami with an devilish grin. “Kiss the bride?”

Opening his eyes just in time to catch a glimpse of the sun dipping below the horizon, Aomine moves in to close the inches between them, but Kise beats him to the punch. The kiss is like their new beginning: slow, sure, the missing piece of a puzzle he’s been trying to solve his whole life. When he pulls away, Kise’s grin widens to a brilliant smile. He scowls, “What the hell? I’m not the goddamn bride.”

Kise slips an arm over his shoulders, draws him in with a giddy laugh, and Aomine forgets to breathe. “’Bride’, ‘groom’, doesn’t matter. Only one word does.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Kise steals another kiss. “’Mine’.”

"I like the sound of that.”

* * *

 

Warm sunlight slants through the heavy curtains of the window and bathes the room in a soft afternoon glow. A quiet sound stirs next to him and Aomine shifts his focus to the angled face turned his way. Kise’s mouth purses, his brows crinkling in the middle as he makes a barely audible sound in his sleep. These are his favorite moments: the marks in time where everything is quiet and content and he feels like he’s exactly where he is supposed to be. 

“Mm... Daiki?” 

Aomine stills. It’s the first time Kise has ever used his given name and the way it rolls off his tongue, natural and easy, bowls him over. Kise’s eyes are still closed, his voice hoarse, hair disheveled and fanning out over the pillow. Aomine’s heart skips, an irregularity he is used to now. The tip of his finger traces the wrinkle between Kise’s brows, light and consciously gentle, before he brushes his hair back and tucks the strands behind Kise’s ear. “You knocked out pretty hard.”

“What time is it?” The question is wrapped around a yawn as Kise stretches, all lean muscle and fluid grace. He groans part-way through, kneading his fingers into the small of his back and burying his face into the pillows with a muffled, “I think you broke me last night.”

“Just past noon,” Aomine says, smug over Kise’s response. He reaches over to help, fingertips pressed into the corded muscle tensed where Kise’s hand is attempting to massage it. His action is met with an appreciative groan and Aomine can’t help but think that even like this, Kise is still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “And you gotta give me a little credit. At least the bed’s still in one piece.”

“Barely,” Kise mumbles somewhat coherently before he turns toward Aomine, sleepy eyes blinking to focus before a groggy smile spreads. “Hi, you.”

“Hey, you.” Sliding down and resting his head against the crook of his arm, Aomine matches the grin and traces bent knuckles along the curve of Kise’s jaw. Stubble scratches against his skin and he half expects for Kise to freak out, to jump from the bed in a panic because he’s less like the perfect image he projects to the rest of the world. But the reaction doesn’t come. Instead, Kise nudges into the caress and sighs, content. “Y'know... that’s the first time you’ve ever called me that.”

“What?”

“My name.”

The crease returns between Kise’s brows. For a second, he looks slightly panicked. “I-- Did you not want me to?”

Aomine moves to smooth the lines out again before resting his hand between them. “Why’d it take so long for you to use it?”

“I got used to ‘Aominecchi’, I guess? It was always at the tip of my tongue, but it felt a little too personal. Something that was just yours, you know?” He absentmindedly traces the phoenix wrapped around Aomine’s finger.

“I like it. How it sounds when you say it.”

“Okay, then,” Kise says, lips brushing against the ink like a promise before he gives a small nod. “Daiki.”

* * *

 

By the time they’ve managed to get out of bed and help themselves to leftovers from the night before, it’s well past five with the sun glowing faintly just above the horizon. Most of the other guests had left the night before, tipsy and in good spirits, but the core of their group remains, lounging around in the outdoor hammocks Kagami had helped Aomine set up before the ceremony.

“Nice of you to come and join us,” Kagami says, peeking out from the hammock he and Kuroko are currently occupying. “We thought maybe you broke each other and I was gonna have to eat the rest of the food by myself.”

“You say that as though you hadn’t tried, Taiga-kun,” Kuroko pipes up, his tuft of sky blue hair emerging from where he’s wedged next to Kagami. “I’m glad you both look somewhat rested.”

Aomine palms his nape, his sheepish grin matching the one Kise now wears. “All right, all right, we get it. We slept in. It was our wedding night, for fuck’s sake!”

“I’m pretty sure most people wouldn’t call what you two were doing ‘sleeping’!” a loud voice interrupts from one of the other hammocks. 

“That is highly inappropriate, nanodayo. You wouldn’t want them to think you make it a habit to listen in on their extracurricular activities.” Midorima’s response earns an obnoxious snicker from Takao, though it’s at least enough to keep him from adding more ammunition to it.

“I’m just sayin’. Thin walls.”

“Please don’t remind the rest of us,” Momoi says, resting her chin on the edge of her hammock. She playfully points a finger at Aomine and Kise. “If these bags under my eyes don’t go away come Monday morning, I’m going to have words with you two.”

“All work and no play makes Satsuki a du--” Aomine ducks, narrowly missing one of the muffins Momoi has thrown at his head. “Oi! What was that for?!”

“Finish that sentence, Dai-chan. I dare you.”

“Don’t test her, Ahomine,” Kagami says with a laugh. “Her room was right next to yours.”

“I even helped Kagamin make drinks so everyone can hang out on the beach. You don’t deserve my special sangria.” Momoi sniffs, though not without affection. 

“Sangria?” Kise’s eyes light up as he pours himself a glass from the pitcher next to where Momoi is situated before he eases himself into one of the hammocks facing the shoreline. “Momoicchi, you shouldn’t have. Ignore everything Daiki says. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He takes a sip of the colorful drink, eyes widening and motioning Aomine toward him. “Oh my god, just what I needed! Come here and try this.”

Aomine eyes the drink with mock skepticism. “I’m not gonna die from food poisoning, am I?”

“Dai-chan!”

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” He makes his way over to Kise and carefully lowers himself into the large hammock. Taking a sip from Kise's glass, Aomine leans back and rests his head against the crook of Kise’s neck with a hum of approval. “Not bad. And it didn’t kill me, so win, win.” 

“Don’t tempt me,” Momoi warns before she, too, busies herself with her own drink.

They all lay in silence for a while, swaying against the light breeze as the sun dips closer toward the horizon. With all the things they’ve gone through to make it to this one perfect moment, a sudden fierce appreciation hits Aomine then; strong and overwhelming with something else he hasn’t felt wholeheartedly in long while. 

He closes his eyes and clears his throat.

“I’m really glad you idiots are here.”

“Are you gettin’ all sentimental on us now?” Kagami interjects, tone obviously amused. “Hey, Momoi! I think it’s time to break out the Kleenex again!”

“What he means to say is,” Kise says, grabbing Aomine’s arm and saving Kagami from Aomine’s intended attack of flying pastries. “Thank you guys for being here. Honestly, I don’t know if we would have happened without all of you. Without all of this.” He plants a kiss at Aomine’s temple and raises his cup high, the others following suit. “To us. To all of us.”

“To all of us,” come the echoes before quiet chatter replaces the clinking of glass. 

As the dying sun finally fades from view, painting the sky in darkened yellows and oranges and pinks, Aomine gazes out at the tide pulling against the shore, legs casually tangled with Kise’s, and thinks:

_Happy. This is what happy feels like._

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has stuck by this story from way back when. The amount of love you’ve given my pet project ~~(which was originally supposed to be a happy birthday one shot for Sachi... haha jokes on me)~~ has made my kuroko go daiki daiki and every comment, kudo, like, and reblog has made writing for this fandom/pairing so fulfilling. I hope you enjoyed the end and thanks for being amazing readers! ♡♡♡

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @ [limitlessmonster](http://limitlessmonster.tumblr.com). :D


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